Nightlife
by faithsette
Summary: "She thinks he's just watching all of the girls, but then he's still staring at her when she looks again a few minutes later. He's not watching all the girls, he's watching her." AU. Kate's a stripper, Rick meets her at a bachelor party. Prompt fill.
1. Chapter 1

**Promp**t: AU Beckett is a stripper, trying to make ends meet. She's constantly surrounded by disgusting men, until she meets Castle, the first man who doesn't see her as an object, at a bachelor party.

* * *

A huge thanks to the lovely prosemeds for the cover image!

* * *

The overbearing smell of sweat, cheap cologne, and the mix of alcohols fills her nostrils, burns her lungs as she inhales. It's a sensation she's gotten used to, knows now how to tough it and power through the overwhelming urge to cough it out. She's learned that if she takes in a shallow breath, holds it for a few seconds and then lets it out slowly, it's not as bad. It still burns, scrapes at her throat for release, but it does the job. It's worse when it's mixed with the myriad of perfumes the other girls use; the aromas all collect together in the air, threaten to suffocate her.

She's in the backroom getting ready to go out, do yet another show in the hopes that the greasy men in attendance are generous tonight. It's mid February and she's cold, even under the hot fluorescent lights, and the skimpy costume she wears does nothing to help. She's since figured out that she gets more money when she wears this particular outfit - if she can even call it an _outfit _\- so she sticks with it, only wears the others when she knows that it'll definitely be a slow night. It's a plaid mini skirt with velcro on the side, making it simple enough for her to open it and reveal what's underneath - black bikini-like bottoms with cutouts around the hips and in the front. The top is a matching bikini top, identical cut outs across the top edges.

It's time to make her way to the stage and she immediately switches herself over, plasters the sexy, smoky smirk on her face as she saunters out, her hips swaying dramatically as she moves. Heels have always been her thing, but by the end of shift each night her feet have her wishing this job accommodated flats.

She scans the audience of choice for the evening, making it a point to maintain eye contact with them all for a few seconds, give them a look of seduction, a hint of what they want, before ripping it away and moving onto the next. They like the chase, she's learned, and the mystery, the thrill, it draws the men to her. She's good at this. It's not socially acceptable, it's not exactly what she'd call a stable career, but it's all she has right now, and being good at it is what keeps her afloat. She grabs onto the pole, spins herself around it with a perfected ease, a lightness, and slides herself down. The surface is sticky beneath her, residue she doesn't even want to _think _about adhering to the heels of her stilettos, to every inch of her body when she lowers down.

Men come up to the stage with lust in their eyes, pure desire, and she wags her fingers at them, her features playful.

_Look, don't touch_.

But they think it's a game. They take her resistance as an invitation to continue, to run their grimy hands on her legs, down her arms and her stomach. She wants to kick them, twist their arms behind their back until they learn how to respect a woman, but she doesn't. She's there as the entertainment, and they see her as merchandise that they can invest in. So she smiles at them, bites the inside of her cheek, and grinds her body down. It works every time, and within a few minutes they're taking stacks of singles from their wallets - she's learned that if she really rolls her hips, they give her more - and pulling at her bottoms, sticking the bills in the front.

Her entire body cringes when they touch her, their fingers lingering at the hem longer than necessary. She glides back, away from their hands, and shields her discomfort as a rehearsed hard-to-get routine.

She hears a distinct whistle in the back of the club and she looks over, her eyes landing on the disgusting grin of a guy that comes by often. Mostly for her. He hasn't showed in a while though, and she was beginning to think he switched clubs. Apparently not. He's a generous tipper, even if he is sleazy, so she keeps him happy. She winks in his direction before making her way down the stairs, sashaying her way to him.

He's staring at her - well, her body - as she places her hands on his shoulders, dipping down until she's level with him.

"Can I help you?" she husks into his ear.

"In more ways than one, sweetheart," he grunts, eyes finally leaving her chest to trail down her body until they land on the front of his own pants.

So he's still gross, good to know.

She doesn't roll her eyes at his words, as much as she wants to, she just lets out a low laugh. Some of the other girls may provide extra… _services _on the side, but she's not one of them. She straightens up, eyeing him before she turns around and then drops back down, beginning his lap dance if only to shut him up.

He continues to groan behind her, spouting out things she doesn't even think about repeating. But hey, if he's going to give her as much as she knows he will, she can stand his lewd comments. She grinds down in response, rolling her body against his thighs until he's rendered speechless.

"Turn around." She doesn't want to have to look at him, but she obeys anyway.

He's leering at her, eyes clouded over with what she knows is probably a mix of drugs and alcohol, and then his hands claw at her hips. They travel, fingers splayed at the open skin of her lower back. She feels him slip a wad of bills into the bikini bottoms, but she stops him when they continue down.

"Now, now, Bobby," she whispers, "You know the rules."

He's pouting like a small child that hasn't gotten his way. "Come on, Kit," he whimpers, "Just this once."

Just this once.

She's heard that before, and she knows for a fact that it's never _just this once_.

"Uh uh," she breathes, keeping her voice low and playful as she gyrates above him.

His hands wrap behind her anyway and come to her ass, squeezing before he pulls her harder onto him. She gasps at the sudden movement and she falls forward, her body now flush against his chest.

"I knew you couldn't say no," he laughs, holding her there as she tries to get up.

This is not what she needs right now.

"Hey!" Her voice is harder now as she shimmies out of his grip. He looks irritated, mad that she isn't letting him use her as his own personal blow up doll in the corner of the club, but she just matches his stare. She brushes against him in retaliation, leaving him uncomfortable and unsatisfied, and then walks away, fluidity accenting each movement of her body.

She hears him bark as she leaves, yelling something akin to _what's gotten into the bitch tonight_ after her.

The click of her stilettos resounds against the steps as she makes her way back up the stage and to one of the vacant poles. A few songs, a few more dances, and a few more searching pairs of hands later, she's done. The facade sticks to the very last second, but disappears the moment she's back behind the curtain once more. She lets out a shuddering sigh, her body giving out on her as she slumps down onto the bench in the backroom. Her head falls into her hands, her breathing still labored - swinging around on the pole takes more out of her than she likes to admit to, and her arm and leg muscles ripple in pain beneath her skin - and then she stands, collecting the bills she's been given.

Just short of five hundred dollars. Not all that bad considering she only gave one lap dance tonight; Bobby gave her well over a hundred, roughly what he pays every time, even though she cut it short. Normally it's anywhere between 5 and 10, but between it being on the slower side tonight and the _lovely _Bobby experience, it just didn't happen. She should be disappointed about losing out on that extra money, but she's secretly relieved. The others are excessively handsy, some more than Bobby, and while she goes along with it to keep them as her clients - to a certain extent - she's really not in the mood.

It's alright, though.

She'll make it up tomorrow. There's a bachelor party at the club, a private event for some big shot, probably, and she's one of the dancers that's been hired to attend.

Her stomach lurches as the implications of a bachelor party - she's done one or two in her time so far, and drunk bachelors have proven to be all the same - but she pushes it aside, reminds herself why she's doing this.

She groans when she peels off her costume and can still feel the grimy hands of the men roaming her exposed skin.

Six. That's how many times she's showered in the past two nights alone, how many times it took to wash away the thin layer of disgust that blanketed her body.

_It's only temporary_, she tells herself as she changes into a pair of jeans and a faded NYU t-shirt. She swings her bag over her shoulder as she says goodnight to the other girls, smiling to the few that she's become friends with. And then she's gone, escapes through the back door, all too ready to collapse into bed.

After she showers.

* * *

He's surrounded by a hoard of guys, most from the wedding party, who are already beginning to reek of alcohol and the bachelor party hasn't even started yet. He's the groomsmen for his buddy's wedding, but he's practically co-best man because the _actual _best man has no idea what he's supposed to be doing.

He managed to set up this party on his own, surprisingly, so at least there's that.

They're minutes from the festivities and are heading to the strip club, a nice place on the edge of town that has a reputation for being the best. Whether that means the best girls or the best service or something else entirely, he's not sure, but he's honestly not all that interested. Everyone's pumped for the strippers, and he's heard mantras of "order the hottest bitches!" from the boys - who are already on their way to being far gone, and he knows this is going to be a night of regrets for a number of them - but he just sighs.

He's been to his fair share of strip clubs, attended more than a few bachelor parties and has had a decent amount of lap dances, but his priorities have changed. He's the father of a young daughter now, and he doesn't really see the appeal. Well, no, he _knows _what the appeal is, and beautiful girls are still on his radar, but the partying and wild nights out aren't his thing anymore. The twenty something playboy that would scour the scene is long gone. But, it's his friend's bachelor party, so of course he wasn't going to back out on him. He'll join the guys, have a few drinks, enjoy the party, and then go back home.

They walk in the club, voices chanting and fists bumping against each other.

Everything's set up, gag decorations plastered around the walls as per their request, and rows upon rows of bottles lined up along the bar. The required items for body shots, jello shots, and just about any other shot imaginable is at their fingertips, and he has a feeling that it's going to be a long night.

"Alright, alright, gather 'round," Kyle, the best man, calls as he waits for the guests to come in closer, circle around him. "It's our boy's last night as a free man." He nudges the groom with his arm, grinning as everyone starts yelling. "Let's make it worth while, huh?"

There's hooting and hollering, the clinking of glasses, and loud music, the base sending vibrations throughout his body. The club's full now that everyone else finally joined, and the lights seem to have dimmed.

"The strippers have arrived!" one of the guys yells, and his eyes turn to the stage.

It's huge, with a runway jutting out from the middle, a pole at the end. There are three other poles on the main stage, each spread a decent distance apart, and that's when he notices the girls start appearing.

A few are on the floor, and he's pretty sure one of the other groomsmen is already getting a lap dance in one of the far booths. He thinks it's traditionally the _groom _that's supposed to get the lap dance, but then again, it is a bachelor party. Anything goes, and whatever happens at a bachelor party stays at the bachelor party. It's somewhat like Vegas in that respect, he supposes.

He grabs a glass from the bar and downs it in one shot, welcoming the burn as it tears down his throat.

He bumps fists and bro-hugs a few of his other buddies that show up, and then his attention goes back to the stage. There are three girls up there now - there were four, but he's not sure where the other one went - and they're all beautiful. The blonde's bent over, pulling on the tie of one of the guys closest to her, and he has to laugh at how easily she got him under her spell. There's another girl dancing in the back, but it's the third girl that catches his eye.

She's tall and thin with brunette curls that cascade down her back, flow over her shoulders as she sways. Her leg drapes over the pole and she uses the other to propel her body around it, only one arm holding her up. Her body twists and turns effortlessly as she manipulates it against the pole, like a snake wrapping around a sword, and he can't take his eyes off of her. She lifts her head up and he watches as her eyes catch the light, captivating even half-hidden behind long lashes.

She's… _stunning_.

* * *

She watches the men from her spot on the stage, scanning the rowdy bachelor party guests each time she spins back around to the front. They fill the club, but they all look to be split into different groups. A few of them are surrounding the groom as he does shots, a few are in the back with some of the other girls, and more are bumping around by the bar. And then her eyes land on one guy - he's older than her, but that's not really saying much - wearing a nice suit, a small flower poking out of his suit pocket, indicating he's part of the wedding party.

She thinks he's just watching all of the girls, but then he's still staring at her when she looks again a few minutes later. He's not watching all the girls, he's watching _her_.

The look in his eyes isn't the same as the lustful desire she normally sees in the men's gazes, and there's a weird flutter in her stomach because of it. She kicks it away and ignores it, because he's probably just better at masking his true desires than the rest of them, and she decides to use this to her advantage. She meets his eyes for the first time and she watches as his widen as he realizes he's been caught, but then she winks, moves her hips around to captivate him.

And it works.

* * *

His entire body shivers when she looks right at him, those eyes piercing and seductive as she moves and-

Oh.

She's leaving the stage. She's… coming right towards him. He was not expecting that.

The closer she gets, he notices a few things. She sure does know how to use her hips, she's even more stunning than he thought, and she's also… really young, much younger than the harsh fluorescent lights make her seem. He immediately wonders what brought her to this place but before he has a chance to get any further in his thoughts, she's standing right in front of him, eye level to him in those six inch stilettos.

"Hi there," she says, and her voice is low and raspy. It's different than he pictured it would be, but he likes it.

She smiles at him and it's beautiful, her tongue poking behind a row of perfectly white teeth.

"Hi," he returns, holding out his hand. She just raises a sculpted brow, obviously taken aback by the gesture, but shakes the offered hand. "What can I call you?"

"Kit."

It's obviously not her real name, but he didn't really expect to get one. She's staring at him expectantly, one brow still raised, and he takes in her features. Expressive hazel eyes that catch the light in different ways depending on the angle, smokey makeup that's smudged a bit at the edges, defined cheekbones that could cut glass, and an adorable mole under her left eye.

There's something else sparkling in those round orbs, hidden beneath the seductive facade she's currently emanating, and his face softens. He's not sure what it is, but there's something about this stripper - _Kit_, though he's dying to know her real name - that makes him want to know more, find out her story. As good as she is at what she does, she still looks tired and worn out, like she could use a break.

And, well, he's not doing anything. He can sit down with her, get a drink, maybe talk.

"Do you want to…" he asks, gesturing to one of the open booths behind them.

She nods and grabs his hand, leading him to the dimmed area a couple feet away. He passes a few of his buddies on the way and laughs at the party games they're just beginning; one of them is grabbing a funnel and he can only imagine how well that's going to play out.

He feels her hands on his chest and before he knows it he's being pushed back until he's sitting in the booth, flush against the leather cushions. He looks up and her eyes are on him, a smirk on her face as she climbs up, swinging one leg on either side of his thighs. She's straddling him, her body grounding into his, her hands on his chest, and he stops breathing. She keeps moving and _shit _she really is good at this, but he shakes his head, grabs her hands to still them.

He can see the hurt in her eyes and it hits him more than it should. She's gorgeous, unbelievably hot even, but this isn't what he wants.

"What's wrong?" she asks, the hurt gone and the sexy exterior back as she shifts her hips again.

His breath hitches. "As great as this is," he waves his hands around her and she blushes. "It's not why I brought you back here."

She furrows her brows and sits back, still on his lap but her hands now planted on her own legs. "Then why am I here?"

"I thought we could talk."

"_Talk_," she repeats incredulously, her eyes skeptical as they come to his. "There are a lot of things guys want to do with strippers, and _talk _doesn't even make the top five."

He doesn't ask what she's alluding to, because he's got a pretty good idea already, but it makes him shudder regardless.

"Well, I'm not one of those guys."

She hesitates. "Why did you really bring me back here?"

"To talk," he repeats and then shrugs. "And because you looked like you could use a break."

She considers this, eyes traveling over him as she sizes him up, and then gives a closed lip smile. "That's actually… kind of sweet. Thanks," she sighs, lets her shoulders droop a bit now that he's already gathered her fatigue. No point in hiding it. "Oh."

It's then that she realizes she's still straddling him and she shifts, bringing one leg off and then the other until she's sitting next to him instead. She pushes her hair out of her face, and he admires the complete change in posture she's giving off now. He thinks that this - the calm, quiet girl sitting next to him - is the real her.

"I'm Rick, by the way," he smiles, the action broadening a bit when she returns it.

She nods, but still doesn't give up a name other than the earlier introduced _Kit_.

"Shouldn't you be like," she gestures to the party, the wild chanting of the guys as they cheer on the groom and his new lady friends. "I don't know, partaking in this lovely show of manhood?"

"Lovely show of manhood?" he laughs, shaking his head when she just nods. "It's my buddy James from college, his bachelor party. I couldn't just back out, but I'd honestly rather be at home with my daughter."

Her eyes widen, something that looks like interest shining within. "You have a daughter?"

His head bobs up and down enthusiastically. "She's six," he says proudly, digging in his wallet for a photo.

She takes it carefully, smiling down at the small redhead whose big blue eyes and toothy grin are staring back at her. "She's adorable," she says genuinely.

"I think so, too," he grins as he tucks the picture safely back into his wallet. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

He turns more towards her. "What are you doing here? That charade you've got going dropped the second I called you out on needing a break. I don't mean it in an offensive way because I respect strippers and the work they put in, it's just… you don't seem like the type of girl that'd be here. I mean, you don't really seem like you want to be here either."

"Got all that from thirty seconds of just being next to me?" She's looking at him curiously, but she doesn't seem offended.

"It's kind of what I do," he says. "I speculate about people's stories. You know, why they are where they are, why they're doing whatever they're doing, what's happened to them, stuff like that." He shrugs. "Occupational hazard."

"What occupation is that?" she asks, leaning her elbow onto the small makeshift table in the center.

"A writer," he tells her, notices the small flash of recognition on her face, but then it's gone as quickly as it came. "But enough about me. Tell me about you. How old are you?"

"Twenty two."

He narrows his eyes with a small laugh. "I'm sure that's what the ID says."

She rolls her eyes, looking back at him. "Alright," she breathes. "Twenty."

Ah, yeah. That seems more likely; he believes that one. So young.

"I know I already asked and you avoided it - _expertly _I might add," he starts, watches her smile. "Why are you here?"

She lets out a sigh, lowering her head. "It pays the bills," she shrugs. "It's what's helping me get through my last year and a half of college." She pauses, rests her chin in her palms. "It's not where I thought I'd be right now, definitely not the job I ever pictured myself in, but it does what I need it to."

She doesn't say that she _has _the money to pay her rent, to put towards school, but she's using it to pay for her father's rehab treatment instead. Her father has no idea she's stripping to make extra money, or that she's using the money they put away for her on him instead. He'd tell her not to do it, because education is the most important thing, but she's more worried about his health. If she has to endure a few more months or maybe a year of this, then she will. She's making it work.

He just nods thoughtfully. "What are you studying?" he asks, and there's not a hint of judgement or pity on his face.

That's new.

She's not used to people just taking that in for what it is without adding their disapproving two cents, without saying how she's a whore for taking off her clothes in exchange for money.

He didn't do that.

It's refreshing to be talked to like a normal human being, have a normal conversation without being just the stripper. It's nice.

"Pre-Law," she says finally.

"Ah, a lawyer. I can see that, you look like a lawyer." She raises her brows. "Well, maybe not in this _exact _outfit," he laughs.

She laughs with him and shakes her head. "Something like that."

"For what's worth, it's really admirable what you're doing," he starts. "Toughing out a job that's probably not as glamorous as it's made out to be to get through college. You're determined, you've got tenacity - I can see it in your eyes. You'll make it through."

His gaze is on her and he watches as she lifts her head, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes finally meet his, sparkling, and they might be even more breathtaking now than they were earlier.

"Kate," she whispers. "My name is Kate."

"Well, Kate," he says as he stands, extending one arm out towards her. "What do you say we get out of here, go get a burger?"

She looks at him hesitantly, contemplating her options. "You're a groomsmen, shouldn't you stick around?"

He turns towards the party where he sees the rest of the guys with more jugs of beer, some body shots, and eating what looks to be like slices of cake shaped in the form of boobs. No one has even seemed to register the fact that he's not out there.

"Uh, no," he laughs. "They won't even know I'm gone." She chews on her bottom lip. "If you're worried about getting in trouble, I could always say this is a personal job? I could pay you?"

She smiles at the gesture. "No, that's okay. Thank you." She grabs his hand and stands up, pointing to the back. "Let me go change?"

He nods and watches her leave and disappear into a side door behind the stage. He got her name. _Kate _\- it fits her, he thinks. She seems really sweet, and it amazes him how she can switch from the girl he watched on stage to the girl he was just talking to about college and his daughter.

She stalks back out a few minutes later in dark skinny jeans, a short trench jacket, and boots, a cross body bag slung over her shoulder. It's the same girl, but she looks so much more relaxed now.

He even thinks he finds her more attractive like this than he did in the bikini outfit. That was appealing, of course, but there's a casual, beautiful sense about her now that's alluring.

"Okay," she says as she bounces up to him.

"How do you feel about Remy's?" he asks, and if the beaming smile that she tries to suppress is any indication, he thinks she likes the idea.

She nods. "Incredible burgers."

"And shakes," they both add at the same time.

He laughs, grinning at the blush on her cheeks. "Remy's it is," he decides, holding his arm out at his side.

She takes it and hooks her arm into his.

"I'd like that."

* * *

Leaving this as in-progress because I've gotten a lot of requests to add a follow up part, and though I don't know when that'll be, I think I'll probably do it.


	2. Chapter 2

He leads her through a maze of tables until they get to their booth and then he opens an arm, motions for her to slide into one side while he goes for the other. She's been here before, many times at that, and she gathers from the way he peruses the menu with ease—his eyes are glossing over the words, and she knows he's only doing it so she's not the only one still deciding—that he has too.

She conceals an eye roll and returns to the list in front of her, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth as she considers her options.

He keeps sneaking not-so-subtle glances at her over the tips of the laminated menu in his hands but she just lets it go, pretends she doesn't notice. The waitress will be around soon to take their orders and she needs to have something chosen by then—even though she'll most likely stick with what she knows.

She looks through the different choices, once again toying with the idea of getting something new, all the while knowing too well that she won't.

"Good evening," the waitress greets, her head bowed as she grabs the notepad from her front pocket. "What can I—Rick," she smiles upon realizing who's occupying her table. "And Miss Beckett! What a nice surprise."

He looks at her with a raised brow and she lets out a breath. She hasn't told him her last name yet; she doesn't actually _know_ him, but it seems that Sarah's done it for her. She can't blame the woman, though—she has no idea they've only just met.

"Hi, Sarah," they both greet in unison, smiles on their faces.

"I didn't know you two knew each other," she hedges, her lips pulled up into a small grin as she waves her pen in their direction.

"New friends," Rick tells her, and Kate raises a curious brow. She's not entirely sure she'd go as far as friends just yet, more like acquaintances, but she nods along anyway.

Sarah looks intrigued, eyes widening with interest. "Oh, how'd you meet?"

Kate freezes, her heart in her throat, and her eyes snap to Rick's. This place is on her home turf and these people—these people know her as Kate Beckett, NYU student, the sweet girl with broken parents. They don't know what she's doing, don't know her as _Kit_, exotic dancer. And she needs to keep it that way.

He catches on to the fear hidden in her eyes, masked with a tight smile and a heaving chest, and he seems to understand.

"The library," Rick answers for her, the lie rolling easily off his tongue. "You know I can't resist indulging in some intelligent conversation with someone who knows almost as much as I do about _real_ literature."

Kate lets out a relieved breath and Sarah nods, accepting his recount of their meeting.

"And by that, of course, I mean my books," he adds cheerily, eyes sparkling when he gets her to crack a laugh.

She huffs. "Please."

"Always modest," Sarah teases before she picks her pad back up. "So, what can I get you two? Your usuals?"

They both give small laughs at their seemingly predictable choices but nod their thanks and hand the menus back to the woman.

Once she's gone and they're alone again, Kate exhales, lets her eyes flutter closed for a few seconds. When she opens them again, she's met with the knowing expression of the man sitting across from her, his blue eyes swirling with so much understanding that it's almost too much for her.

"Thank you," she whispers. "For not telling her—"

He shakes his head. "Of course. I wouldn't do that anyway, but the look on your face... I figured she didn't know."

"No," she confirms. "I've known Sarah for years, I'm pretty sure she still thinks of me as a teenager. I couldn't tell her. No one here knows."

"Is that why you chose to go there?" She quirks a brow. "I mean, that specific club. It's far enough from here—which I assume is close to home since you come here often—so no one will recognize you."

Her eyes widen, both surprised and impressed that he's put it together so quickly, that he's hit the nail on the head.

She gives him a slight nod. "I can't risk seeing anyone I know."

She's come close once, almost had someone she knew walk into the club and spot her. She practically ran into the back room, only narrowly avoiding a broken ankle when she missed a step and went tumbling into the wall. She stayed there for a good ten minutes before she went back out, slowly canvassing the audience until she found the person of interest. Turns out it wasn't even who she thought, just someone who resembled them from a certain angle.

Ever since then she's been extra careful, more on edge whenever the door opens in fear that, eventually, it'll be someone who recognizes her.

She can see a question forming on his lips but he's interrupted by Sarah, who comes bearing their food.

"Bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake," she recites as she places the plate down in front of Kate, sliding her milkshake next to her. "And a deluxe burger—extra pickles—with fries, and a chocolate milkshake." She gives Rick his food next and digs into her apron pockets to give them straws. "Enjoy, kids," she adds as she steps away.

"Chocolate, huh?"

Her eyes pop up to his. "Yes?"

He shakes his head. "I just pictured you as a vanilla girl."

She laughs. "You pictured wrong," she says, picking up her milkshake and taking a sip of it for emphasis. "Always chocolate."

He smiles at her, something in his expression that she can't exactly pinpoint but it kicks up her heart rate, sends shivers down her spine. It's so... _friendly_. She has to avert her eyes for a few seconds and she kneads her hands in her lap, fingers brushing over her knuckles. When she brings her head back up, his features have changed—they're still painfully kind, but the look of hesitation he wore earlier when he was about to ask a question is back. She wants to shrink into the booth, avoid any and all questions because she knows they'll be personal and she also knows she'll tell him.

There's something about this guy that makes him easy to trust, easy to want to talk to, and that scares her.

She's not used to this.

"Why are you really there?" he asks quietly, looking down before his eyes are back on her.

She doesn't look at him, keeps her gaze locked on the food that she's been picking at. She should've known he wouldn't give that question up so easily.

"I already told you," she says, pushes her fries around on the plate. "At the club. It pays the bills."

He nods. "Yeah, but _why_ are you there? You don't belong there. You _know_ you don't belong there." She chews on the inside of her lip, fidgets uncomfortably in her seat. "You go to NYU, and since I doubt you've been stripping since before you were in college, that means you had another way to pay for it beforehand. So why the change? Why strip? There's gotta be a story."

She lets out a heavy sigh, her jaw set. "What do you want me to say, Rick? That I had family money getting me through Stanford until my mother was murdered and my father drowned himself in the bottle to cope? That I transferred to NYU and chose to spend my college money on a funeral for one parent and rehab for the other instead of on me?"

His breath catches in his throat, nothing short of a small gasp escaping. "Kate, I'm so—I'm so sorry," he breathes, his hand coming across the table to carefully capture hers. "I had no idea—"

"No, I know," she shakes her head, tilts it back as she blinks away frustrated tears. "It's fine. I'm sorry, I just—it's a lot."

He lets out a breath. "I'd say so. How is—how's your father doing?"

She shrugs. "He's coping in the only way he knows how," she says with a sad smile. "He's trying though. They're helping him there. So if I have to keep—doing what I'm doing for a while longer, then that's what I'll do."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, hates himself for it because it's a useless sentiment for the girl who's gone through hell. Sorry does her no good. "If you need help, I could always—"

"No," she cuts him off more forcefully than she'd intended. "I mean, thank you, really, that's too generous of you. But I'll be fine."

He almost starts to argue, wants to assure her that he has more than enough money to help her out, but he can see in her eyes that she's serious about this. So he lets it go, doesn't press any further, just nods with a small smile because that's all he can give that she'll take.

"If you ever change your mind..." His voice trails off at the end but she gets it, understands what he's saying.

They go back to the food that's been long forgotten in the course of their conversation. Kate's burger is much bigger than she remembers it being last time and she taps out about halfway through, any earlier ravaging appetite having disappeared. Rick finishes his but stealthily pushes the rest of his fries onto her plate when he thinks she isn't paying attention. She is, and she sees him.

"What are you doing?" she asks, a brow raised as she catches him mid-fry transfer.

He stills when he realizes he's been busted and she has to stifle a laugh. He looks ridiculous. A dopey, guilty smile on his face, his plate in the air as he pushes the remainder of his fries towards her.

"I thought you could use the extra fries," he explains weakly, his eyes squinted as he looks at her.

She hums. "Normally guys are trying to get me drunk, and here you are trying to fatten me up," she muses dryly.

His eyes shoot hilariously wide, and his mouth drops open quickly. "No, I wasn't—you don't need to—you look _great_," he rushes out. "But your stomach was rumbling before and I thought—" he stammers, stops mid-sentence when he realizes that she's not glaring at him, but laughing at him.

"You can calm down, Rick," she grins. "But really, I'm full."

"That wasn't funny," he deadpans, but his face breaks out into a smile regardless. A hand comes to rake through his hair, his head shaking as she just continues to muffle her laughter. "I was trying to be a gentleman."

She rolls her eyes. "It was very gentlemanly of you, don't worry."

She eventually turns the questions on him and asks about the bachelor party he's just ditched and his daughter, smiling at the pure love and admiration that pours out of him as he speaks of her. He tells her stories of the girl who is apparently more mature than he is—somehow she has no trouble believing that one—and regales some of their funniest moments.

He's so animated as he talks that she can't help but laugh, and she finds herself wondering the last time she's just enjoyed someone's company this much. She comes up blank after a few seconds, realizing then that it's been _that _long.

She finally feels like Kate again, doesn't feel like Kit. She's just herself, not the persona that's taken over so many of her nights.

Her attention remains locked on him, the man with waving arms and twinkling eyes, and a genuine smile appears on her face. Maybe she can see herself considering him more than just an acquaintance after all.

A friend.

* * *

"What did I tell you," she growls, the sound coming out somewhere between playful and a true warning.

Bobby's hands are roaming again, palms splayed at her lower back as she rolls her hips above his. She keeps her face from his view when she gives his lap dance, both so she doesn't have to look at him and so he doesn't see her constant grimaces of pure disgust. She can't let it show—not after Victor, her boss, made it a point to pull her aside and inform her that she's to keep him happy.

She's still not sure whether she meant _him_ him or Bobby, but she figures it's best to just assume both. When Bobby's happy, Victor's happy. And when Victor's happy, things go a bit smoother than they do when he's not. Especially for her. He's a big man, one hundred percent Italian—from Brooklyn, though none of them ever bring up his rumored associations with certain crime families—and it's easier, safer, to be in his good graces.

So she bites her tongue, pushes back the wave of distaste that washes over her every time she feels his grimy fingers move over her skin.

"Come on, Kit," he drawls, his voice laced with alcohol and desire. "Why don't you be like the other girls for once, huh?"

Her hips still and she pulls back slightly, keeping her head dipped. "And how is that?" she breathes, nipping at his ear in an attempt to just shut him up.

His hands vacate her back and find her arms, tugging her until she's forced to face him. "You already know, sweetheart." His voice is a low groan. "Let me take you out of here, go somewhere more private. Put out a bit, babe."

She doesn't have time to react before he grips her waist, slams her body down onto his. The surprise makes her gasp, her hands falling to brace herself on the edges of the leather seat. He mistakes her gasp for one of pleasure—god, _never_—and he surges his hips into hers, his hands coming around to hold her steady.

"_Stop_," she barks, low but commanding. She shakes his hands away from her and moves one leg off him before the other, effectively breaking the straddling position he's pulled her into.

He's pouting from his spot below her. "Why are you such a bitch lately? We don't even have to fuck yet, just a little extra. I think I've been pretty patient, Kit."

Her eyes burn like fire as she takes in what he's saying. A part of her wants to laugh. The other part of her wants to rip his throat out with her bare hands. Despite her desire to choose all of the above, both of these are likely to backfire on her, so she settles for cocking her head, letting her tongue dart out between her teeth as she narrows her eyes.

She's not even sure what part of that sentence is the most revolting.

The fakest smile she can muster forms on her lips. If only looks could actually kill. "You knew I didn't do that when _you_ decided to become one of _my_ regulars, Bobby."

There's no public list of this information, no official record of who does what—both off the books and on—but everyone knows. Word travels fast, the details get around, and you go to the girl who will do whatever it is that you're looking for. Depending on the case, some do more than others.

He beckons her with one of his fingers and she's about to refuse when she notices Victor watching from a far corner. She doesn't make eye contact, only sees him from behind the curtain of her hair, but his attention is on her. So she puts the seductive facade back into play, plasters on another grin, and leans into the man.

The smirk on his face is sickening, but she doesn't react. He grabs behind her neck, dips her into him and kisses just below her ear. His other hand snakes into her bottoms, places a wad of cash in the hem before he releases her and slaps her ass as a goodbye.

"I'll break you," he tells her, leering as if he hadn't just been shot down for the fiftieth time this month. His tone makes her nauseous. "You'll love it."

She just gives him a tight lipped, practiced smile and waves her fingers, _accidentally_ brushing against his groin as she stands up. He grunts, eyes dark and clouded, but she just turns, swings her hips as she moves away, successfully leaving him uncomfortable and unsatisfied.

She grabs the money he's given her once she's no longer in his line of sight, can't hide her surprise when she counts it—it's double what he normally gives her, and she's positive this is some sort of down payment for what he believes is to come.

The thought makes her cringe, but she rolls the bills back up anyway. If he wants to dish out the cash for something she's told him she won't do, then that's his own fault. She's got rent to pay and an education to keep up; she's not about to turn it down. Him? Absolutely. He might as well be six feet under. His money? Never.

* * *

Harsh florescent lights beam down and illuminate her sweaty body in a glow, bringing out the glitter that paints her like a canvass. It makes her skin sparkle with every twist of her limbs, makes it shimmer when the light hits at different angles. It's scorching on stage and her long, flowing curls are soaked, stick to her back until she swings her head to settle it on the opposite shoulder. This is the only reason she's grateful for the tiny outfits. She'd be dying with any more clothing than she currently has on—which isn't much, just small booty shorts with lace detailing, a strappy bikini style top to match.

She sinks down to her knees, spreads them with her hands braced in front of her. A twirl of her head, another flip of her hair, and she can hear the men in front start breathing a bit harder, a bit faster. She goes back on her haunches, drags her hands down her breasts, trailing them over the open skin of her abdomen and down her thighs.

A few particularly... _affected_ men come up to the edge of the stage, a handful of bills held in their outstretched fingers. She bats her eyelashes and makes sure there's a twinkle in her eye, a seductive smirk on her face as she calls them closer. She cocks her head, bites her bottom lip when she knows they're watching. All of their eyes are on her, transfixed as she brings them in, teeters them on the edge.

An act or not, she's proud of the way she can incapacitate these men.

Her tongue comes out to sooth the skin abused by her teeth and she lets out a small chuckle at their slack jaws, lust filled eyes. They move closer, hands gripping at her hips and others sliding down her thighs. She doesn't falter, just continues to gyrate her hips against the stage floor as they pull at the edges of her bottoms. Their fingers linger as they leave the bills, but she swats at them playfully, shakes her head.

They eventually go back to their seats and she gets up slowly, does one last swing around the pole before she saunters off stage and retreats down the stairs. She's about to run behind the curtain when she hears someone call her name, and she feels a large hand grab at her forearm.

She swivels around instantly, ready to deal with another vile, insistent—

Oh. She's met with a pair of sparkling blue eyes instead.

"Rick?"

He smiles. "You really are memorizing, you know."

She opens her mouth, glad the awful lighting hides the warmth she can feel rushing to her cheeks. "How much of that did you see?"

"Enough," he chuckles, a grin on his face. "I have seen you perform before, you know."

She breathes, knowing it's true. He's seen her wearing less at that bachelor party a few weeks ago, but it doesn't make it any less awkward standing in front of him with practically nothing on. In the middle of a sea of disgusting men, no less.

She shakes her head. "I—What are you doing here?"

"You said you usually get off around this time," he says with a small shrug. "Thought I'd come see if you wanted to get a coffee."

A smile graces her lips. "As much as I'd love a coffee, I'll regret it later when I can't sleep," she sighs. Coffee is one of the things getting her through, but if she doesn't get any sleep she'll be dead on her feet in her 8am.

"A muffin and a walk through Central Park, then?"

He's looking at her with hope in his eyes but no expectations, something she's realized she doesn't see often. There are always expectations.

She softens a little. A muffin _does_ sound nice, as does spending some more time with him.

"Sure," she agrees with a nod, her gaze just about meeting his with the assist of her heels. "I'll go get changed." She throws her hand behind her, gesturing to the room before she heads back there.

She bounces out five minutes later in jeans and a light sweater, but she doesn't go back out onto the floor to meet him.

"Rick," she calls in a hushed whisper, waits until he looks at her to motion for him to follow. "Let's go out this way."

She leads him through a side door, smiling when his hand instinctively lands on her back to guide her out.

"How many entrances does this place have?" he asks once they're outside.

"Three. Side door, back door, and the front door."

He looks at her. "Any reason we didn't just use the front door?"

She shrugs, bites at her lip. "One of my... clients, I guess you'd call him. He's usually gone by now, but he was still sitting there and I didn't want to have to walk past him."

He stops them in their tracks, turns to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Is he a problem?"

"It's a strip club, who isn't a problem?" she quips, watching as his brows raise. "I mean—he's just a new level of disgusting, that's all. Doesn't know how to keep his hands off of me, doesn't take no for an answer."

She's adds the last part quietly; they're still fairly close to the club, and the last thing she needs is for someone to overhear her complaining about any of the costumers, regardless of whose regular they are.

"He touches you even after you tell him to stop? Has he—He hasn't taken it too far—" His eyes search hers, so serious, and she has to look away. "Kate—"

She wraps her fingers around his arm, shakes her head. "No, no," she assures him, noticing how he breathes a sigh of relief. "He's just handsy. He's mad that I won't take him in the back room and let him fuck me just because some of the other girls will. It's not a big deal, I'm fine."

He wants to tell her that it _is_ a big deal, that just because she's a stripper doesn't mean he can touch her if it makes her uncomfortable, but he swallows his concerns. She's been opening up these past few weeks and he won't overstep and ruin that.

"I can punch him if you'd like?"

It's such a genuine offer that she has to laugh. "As tempting as it is to watch someone knock him out, I'd rather you not get an assault charge on my account."

He grins. "Let me know if you change your mind."

* * *

They get muffins from a small corner bakery and decide to eat them as they go instead of sitting inside. The park is lit up, street lights blanketing everything in a faint golden glow that's captured her attention.

It's beautiful, reminds her of just how captivating the city can be. The streets provide much of the noise around them, cars honking and speeding by even as the night drags on. There are other people in the park but they're spread out, some laying in the grass, others having quiet conversations on one of the benches. It's been far too long since she's done this—relax and wander around at night, basking in the stars and the subtle lighting of the city.

"This is delicious," she says, biting back a moan as she picks at the tip of her muffin. She almost refused a second one, but she figures she'll just work it off tomorrow night anyway.

He laughs, nodding in agreement. "I told you the lemon glaze was heavenly," he teases. "This one's actually really good, too."

"What'd you get as your second choice?"

"Snickerdoodle," he says. "Wanna try it?"

She only thinks about it for a second before he's holding it out towards her, encouraging her to take a bite. "Okay," she says, leaning forward until she's able to take a small bite out of the corner. She laughs into it as she tries to avoid knocking it out of his hand, and then she's pulling back, covering her mouth with her palm as she chews.

"So?" He's looking at her expectantly, brows raised as if she's a world renowned chef that's about to decide whether or not his muffin gets a Michelin Star.

She nods. "Not too bad, actually."

"Right? I'm always skeptical of cookie-turned-muffins but I'm pleasantly surprised."

She laughs. "What are you, some kind of muffin connoisseur?"

"I could be," he nods thoughtfully, laughing when she just rolls her eyes. "It's getting kind of cold, do you want to head back? I could walk you to your apartment?"

She hadn't realized that she was actually shivering a little until he brought it up, but now that she's aware of how cold the night air has become it's all she can think about. Her arms curl into her body as the breeze rips through her sweater, the remainder of her muffin secured safely in her left hand.

"Sure, I'd like that," she agrees, startling when he takes off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. "Oh—thank you." She bites down on her bottom lip. "And, thank you... for tonight. For the muffins, and the company."

He smiles at her, eyes brightened under the street light. "Nothing else I'd rather do."

* * *

I'm so sorry about the wait on this one. It wasn't cooperating with me at all, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it but I hope you guys enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think! Also, I'm pretty sure this'll have two more chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

She twirls around the pole twice before she sways, tugging playfully at the flimsy knot at her hip until the mini skirt falls. It lands at her feet and she kicks it up with her heel, launching it a bit further than she'd intended. The grimy audience is in full swing, but she keeps the smile plastered on her face and ignores the eyes openly leering at every part of her exposed skin. Her skirt manages to make its way into the hands of one particularly greasy looking patron—who's far too close to the stage, considering that she could easily uppercut him with her heel if she kicks far enough—and she feels his lustful gaze burning through her.

It makes her skin crawl.

She assumes he's new; she hasn't seen him before, but the way Bobby's patting his back has her stomach dropping. Of course he's the one who recruited him. Takes a scumbag to know a scumbag, she supposes.

Her eyes rip away from theirs and return to the nothingness of the far wall. She dips low, rolling her hips until she's on her knees, bent over with a fake smile as she allows men to stick dollar bills into her top. Their hands linger a second too long, an inch too low, and then she's shaking her head, bringing her waving index finger in front of their faces. She's not surprised that they laugh but they all return back to their seats without much problem. For once.

She wishes she could look out and see not the faces of gross men ogling her, but the face of Rick, the sweet man she's been getting to know for the past few weeks. He doesn't come by often—only once or twice a week—and they usually opt for places that are more... well, _not here_. It's usually a small coffee shop or a dainty cafe, which is where she has plans to meet him later.

They've learned a bit more about each other since their initial meeting, though she's still keeping some things close to the belt. He's knows enough, though, more than she's told most of the people she's encountered through this place. It took a while for her to realize that he was really only looking to talk to her, but their days out only proved to solidify her opinions of him. He didn't—and doesn't—seem to be playing her, and she doesn't think this is just some elaborate ruse to get into her pants. He's really _just_ this nice.

It's a new notion for her.

He's the first guy to know what she does—hopefully not for much longer, though—and still talk to her, and treat her, like a human being. Not a play toy, not a stripper. He doesn't talk down to her and there's no judgement present when he speaks. If anything, there's a genuine curiosity about her life and her education.

He's offered to pay for her tuition at least twice and she's shocked at how it didn't come off sounding like charity, but more like he truly wants to help her out. She's let on that she doesn't want to be doing this and he knows that. He also offered to, alternatively, pay for her father's rehab so she can use the money set aside for it's intended use—her schooling. As freeing as the possibility of having her school or her father's rehab paid for is, she can't take his money. She has to do this herself, and though she appreciates his generosity, she's turned him down.

A grin almost breaks out onto her face at the thought, the fact that he's become an actual _friend_, but then she catches herself.

She's still on stage. She has to keep the sultry, seductive charade up for—she swiftly glances at the clock on the far wall—another half an hour. But then she's done.

The looming end of her shift brings a new light to her, lets her breathe knowing that her time on the stage is almost up. The harsh lights beam down on her, casting her exposed skin in a blanket of heat, but she pushes through, braces her hand high on the pole and swings, propelling her body around until she slides gracefully to the floor. Thankfully for her, it was cleaned earlier because of an incident—she doesn't want to think about what it was—so instead of the usual sticky, unnerving substances adhering to her skin, she's met with just the stage.

It's a small blessing.

The half hour passes somewhere between painfully slow and just slow enough and she practically bounces off behind the curtains after throwing one last, fake smirk to her loyal, and disgusting, audience. She lets out a heavy sigh the second she's no longer being watched and stalks off towards the back room.

There are a few other girls in the back and she gives them a small, tight lipped smile.

"You done already, Kit?" Celine, one of the only girls she's actually held a conversation with before, asks as she preps herself for showtime.

She hasn't told any of them that she's not Kit, she's Kate—though everyone knows that none of them actually go by their real names—but she doesn't have any plans to either. As companionable as the conversations can be, she doubts she'll be friends with any of them after she's left this place.

She nods to the blonde. "Just finished," she confirms. She grimaces as she peels off the remaining leather that's practically glued itself to her hips. "It's a full house tonight."

Celine groans. "James or Bobby?"

Kate laughs, knowing she's asking about the general disposition of the audience—are they mostly James', like the surprisingly nice guy that stopped in a few weeks back, or like Bobby, who all of the girls know of. "Bobby, unfortunately."

"Well, better brace myself then. Have a good night, Kit," the blonde smiles to her as she saunters past, turning to do one last once over in the mirror before she disappears.

Celine's already gone by the time she returns the pleasantry, so she just turns around and makes her way towards one of the benches in the back. None of the other girls say anything to her, just throw sidelong glances as if they're still sizing her up. Her gaze stays trained forward as she walks, ignoring the others when she passes. The staring and hushed whispers were unnerving at first but she's gotten used to it, doesn't even pay them any mind now.

She grabs her clothes and takes her bra out, hooking it around her waist and pulling it up before she unties her show top. She throws a loose, almost transparent v neck over her head and shimmies into her jeans, stuffing the previous outfit into the bag without much finesse.

Her bag is slung around her shoulder and she practically sprints through the room, brushing past the last batch of girls that are set to go on any minute, and out the back door. She usually leaves through the front, but given that there are more people out there than usual, she'd like her departure to go unnoticed.

The door swings closed behind her as she enters the night.

* * *

They're supposed to meet later that night, enjoy each other's company over some coffee after her shift, but she sends him a text saying that she can't make it. She doesn't give any details, knowing too well that he'd do something stupid like rush over to her the second he found out.

He's confused, to say the least. She gets a reply asking if she's okay, if there's anything he can do, but she just tells him that yes, she's fine—because she is, really—and no, he doesn't have to do anything. When she gets the final text from him saying okay and that he's there if she needs anything, she sighs, tosses her phone onto the couch next to her, its weight making no sound against the cushions.

She makes her way into the bathroom slowly, mindful to keep the light off so she doesn't have to look at herself. She's not ready for that. Her hand rises up, the pads of her fingers trailing across her bottom lip. Her tongue follows, darting out to assess the damage—not too bad. It's split towards the left, a small vertical cut that stings when it's touched, but that seems to be the worst of it.

What she needs is some ice for her eye, but she's all out. She's been meaning to stop at the store and get ice cube trays—her previous set was cracked and essentially useless for keeping water contained—but there hasn't been much time between the club and school, so she hasn't gotten around to it yet.

The neighbor across the hall slams their door shut and Kate jumps, spinning around so she's in the bathroom doorway, staring through the apartment. Her chest heaves, slowing down only when she realizes it wasn't her door being opened.

She's still a little shaken, a little jumpy, and she hates it.

It shouldn't have happened in the first place. She always pays attention when she's leaving, always has herself on high alert, but she just wasn't quick enough, didn't register him until it was too late.

She takes a deep breath and screws her eyes shut. She can still feel her heart thumping against the cage of her ribs and she leans against the door frame, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as a few tears escape and slide down her cheeks. Her fingers immediately wipe them away and she sniffs, steeling herself, erasing any evidence of moisture from her face.

She shakes her head. She's fine. It's just a few scratches, a few bruises.

It's her first attack—but she doesn't want to call it that; it sounds so... _brutal_, makes her sound like a victim—outside the club, which is impressive in itself considering she's been working there for a while now. She's heard stories about the other girls getting followed out, guys trying to force them into their cars, getting slapped around, but they don't really compare to having it actually happen.

She pops an Advil into her mouth, swallowing it with a glass of water and a sigh. Her eye is throbbing and she curses to herself. She really needs that ice.

And to calm herself down. She's downplaying it—deep down she knows it's a problem, knows she has to do something about it—and telling herself that she's fine, but her body doesn't seem to agree. It keeps trembling of its own accord, her fingers shaking even as she works to still them. She takes one look around her apartment, greeted by nothing but the dark lighting and the open space. It's too quiet.

She doesn't want to be alone.

_If you need anything, I'm here_. His words ring in her head, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth. He did say anything, and she does need ice.

A deep exhale escapes her lips as she flips on the light, her face twisting when she sees the extent of the bruise surrounding her left eye. She composes herself as she grabs her makeup bag—if she's going over there, she can't do it like this. She uses an excessive amount of cover up to mask the majority of the bruise, only stopping when it's clear she's not going to be able to completely make it disappear.

It looks decent enough, the purple and blue sufficiently covered by a heavy layering of different foundations and cover up.

It'll have to do.

* * *

No one answers at his loft when she knocks and she debates leaving, figures he's gone out for the night. She should've called, but she knew he'd ask questions and that isn't something she wanted to do over the phone.

Or in person, but the latter is inevitable.

She's about to turn on her heels and walk back towards the elevator when she hears it ding. Someone steps out and it takes a few seconds for her to realize that it's him, it's Rick, and he's coming right towards her, head down as he looks at his phone.

He looks up before he reaches his door, his stride slowing when he realizes that someone's standing there.

"Kate?" He squints, tries to reveal the face under the dim lighting of the hallway, the night outside doing nothing to help with illumination.

"Hey, Rick."

He comes closer. "What are you doing here?"

She shifts on her feet, turns her head so maybe he won't be able to see that anything's wrong. She's less confident about her make up job right now under his gaze than she was alone in her apartment bathroom. She had the forethought to bring sunglasses with her and put them on before he saw her, but it's still just a thin veil.

"Do you have ice?" isn't what she planned to say but it's the first thing that comes out of her mouth.

He nods slowly. "I—Yes I have ice," he says, shuffling next to her so he can unlock the door. It swings open and he motions in front of him. "Come in?"

She follows him wordlessly, immediately wishing that the loft wasn't as bright as it is.

"Thanks," she says, trailing behind him as he moves towards the kitchen. "I'm, uh—I'm making iced coffee and I realized I didn't have ice."

He turns at that, his brows knitted together. "Iced coffee?" She nods, kicking herself. She could've done so much better than _iced coffee_. "Alright, Kate, what's going on? And why are you wearing sunglasses? It's almost midnight."

"Didn't want to deal with people on the way over," she half-lies.

He doesn't buy it. "Kate," he starts, his legs bringing him closer until he's in front of her. "Is that—is that a bruise?"

She takes half a step back when he hesitantly goes for her sunglasses, only stopping when his eyes plead with hers and she lets him tug them from her face. She's not looking at him, her eyes cast down at the floor. She doesn't want to see his face.

His gasp is not subtle. "Do you have a black eye?" His voice is laced with concern and she can't take it. "Kate. What happened? Why do you have a black eye? Who did this to you?"

She sighs and finally looks up, giving him the most comforting smile she can muster. "I'm fine, Rick, really."

"You're not fine," he argues, pointing for emphasis. "You have a _black eye_."

"It looks worse than it is."

"Because you've tried to cover it up with makeup," he says, his hand gently brushing at the bruised skin beneath her eye. "Let me wash this off, please? And I'll get you some ice."

She's about to protest, doesn't want him to see what she did before she covered it up, but he's already going for a wash cloth. He's running the water and she watches as he puts his fingers under it, testing to make sure it's not too cold. When he comes back the cloth is damp with warm water, the excess dripping onto the floor.

He looks at her for permission and she gives him an almost imperceptible nod. She sighs when he brings the cloth to her face, wincing slightly when the texture of the cloth irritates the bruise.

"I'm sorry—"

She shakes her head. "It's okay. I'm fine."

The argument is on his lips but he doesn't use it, just nods and goes back, even more gently. The tenderness he uses as he wipes off her makeup is almost overwhelming. His fingers brush stray hairs out of the way, sweeping them behind her ear in a gesture that's blanketed with security and comfort.

She knows when he's finished because his breath hitches.

"_Kate_."

Her name carries so much horror and concern that it threatens break her resolve. She's been pushing back any real tears since it happened, adamant that she stay calm and not let this rattle her, but if he keeps looking at her like that, if his voice keeps sounding like that, she just might crack.

"It's really not as bad as it looks," she says again, her eyes searching his as she tries to convince him of that.

"Really, because it looks horrible," he retorts. "What happened?"

His voice is soft, too soft, and she lets out a breath.

"I was leaving the club, and I went out the back door like I do when I don't want to be seen. I wasn't paying close enough attention I guess. I was just focused on getting to the car and home so I could get ready to meet you, and—" She pauses, looks away from him. "This guy came out of nowhere. He was in the club tonight, one of my regular's buddies, and he was drunk off his ass. He must've been waiting outside. I don't know if it was for me specifically or if it was just a coincidence, but he—he jumped out and caught me by surprise. Tried to push me towards his car." Rick's hands ball into fists at his side and she notices, curling one of her hands around his and squeezing before she even realizes what she's doing.

"Someone must have heard me scream because they got him off me, but not before he got a swing in," she gives him a small smile, pointing to her eye in reference.

"God," he whispers, his eyes far too intense for his own good. He rushes forward and envelops her in his arms, but he breaks apart immediately when she groans. "I'm so sorry. Kate, are you okay?"

She nods, holding her breath in as she wills away the searing pain. His eyes fall to her arm, cradled around her ribs for dear life.

"What else did he do?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing, it's nothing," she tries to assure him, but she knows the discomfort is shining through on her face. She sighs. "I was slammed against the wall and fell onto the railing." Rick eyes widen, a silent gasp on his lips. "My ribs broke my fall."

"Jesus, Kate," he says, his hand going to find hers. "Can I..."

She hesitates for a second but uncurls her arm, gives him a nod. He's already seen her body on stage, already inspected her black eye. There's no point in hiding it now.

His fingers hover at the hem of her shirt, tugging it up slowly to reveal a pattern of small bruises around her ribcage, all in varying sizes and all looking different levels of pain. His hand is splayed over them and her stomach ripples under his touch. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from wincing; they're still fresh and annoyingly sensitive, but she knows that he's being careful.

"It's okay," she says, tries to bring her voice back to its usual, light tone. "As seedy as that place is, Victor isn't very keen on the clients roughing up his girls." She resists the shudder that wants to take over her body. _His girls_. She's not his girl. "He's taken care of it."

"Please don't go back," he says, and the firmness of his voice catches her off guard.

She blinks. "I—what?"

"Don't go back to the club."

She's just staring at him now, eyes wide and confused. "I have to go back, Rick," she says, as if that's obvious. "It's my _job_."

"No," he shakes his head. "No type of job worth having has you going home with black eyes and broken ribs."

"It's only one black eye," she murmurs quietly.

He gives her an incredulous look. "Kate," he sighs, his hands coming up to his face. "I—when I saw your eye, your ribs, I—" He pauses. "This is terrifying. I don't want to have to see you with more black eyes, more bruised ribs, or, god forbid, something much worse. What if no one came out? What if he managed to get you into his car?"

She doesn't meet his eyes, doesn't want him to see the emotions running through hers because she _knows_. She's spent the entire ride back to her apartment thinking about it, the whole time she was waiting for him thinking about it. Hell, she's been thinking about it since it happened. It's just pure luck that someone was in the back room when she screamed—normally it's empty when the last set of girls go on stage.

"I _know_, Rick," she says, more forcefully than intended. "You think I wasn't terrified? Do you honestly think that thought hasn't crossed my mind? I was thirty seconds away from being something a lot worse than just _bruised_. I _know_."

His face softens, wipes at the lone tear she didn't even realize was sliding down her cheek. "Then don't go back. You don't want to be there to begin with, so just—don't."

"What about work? What about money? I need to pay for school, Rick. And my father's rehab, and I need this job to do it," she mutters. "It's disgusting and you're right, I _don't_ want to be there, but it _gets the job done_ and I make more money there than I would waiting tables or working retail. Trust me, this was a last ditch attempt at making something work."

"I've told you that I'll help," he reminds, and she looks up at him, his blue eyes boring into hers.

She sighs. "And I've told you that I can't let you do that."

"Why not?" he challenges. "Look, I know you want to do this on your own, and I admire that. I _respect_ that. But friends help friends out. Friends don't let other friends put themselves in dangerous situations if they can help." She lowers her eyes. "And I can help, Kate. Please, just let me help."

She chews on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering, to keep herself tethered. She hates the pained expression on his face, hates the horror she saw when he revealed her eye, and she hates the sharp intake of breath he couldn't suppress when he traced her bruised ribs even more. She doesn't want to keep stripping, doesn't want to go back to that place anymore.

It's tainted now. She won't be able to go out the back without a crippling fear that someone's waiting for her around the corner.

When she brings her head up his eyes are on her—not intense or angry, but concerned—quietly pleading with her to let him help.

So she does.

"Okay," she whispers, so quietly she's not sure she's even said it.

But she did. "Okay?"

She nods silently, but can't help how the corners of her lips curl up at his relieved smile. He exhales and his arms wrap around her shoulders as he pulls her to him, careful not to jostle her or put any pressure on her ribs.

"Thank you," he breathes, and she's sure he can feel her heart beating against his chest. "I'll go get you that ice."

* * *

Thank you all for your sweet reviews, the response to this has been much more than I expected! I hope you enjoy this and I look forward to what you guys think.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

She laughs, cradling the phone between her shoulder and chin. "I'm sure," she repeats for the second time. "I'll be fine."

He sighs. "Fine," he relents, but she can hear the reluctance. "But call me when you're done, please?"

"I'm a big girl, Rick."

She knows it's only his concern showing, given what happened the last time she was at the club, but she's perfectly capable of going there by herself. She has to tell Victor that she's quitting—the only reason she hasn't gone back before today is because he, surprisingly, told her to take a few days—and it'll be easier if she doesn't have Rick with her, no matter how comforting his presence tends to be.

"I know. I'm just worried, and I think I have a pretty valid reason." His voice tapers off at the end, and yeah, he does have a valid reason for the concern.

She moves around her room, rummaging through her closet and dresser for something to put on. It's been a lazy day so far and she hasn't had a reason to get dressed, but she can't very well go to the club in pajamas. Comfortable? Yes, absolutely. Suitable for a nightclub? Not so much.

"You do," she agrees as she pulls out a pair of jeans. "And I appreciate it. But I'll be okay." She pauses. "And I'll give you a call when I'm done."

She can practically hear him smiling. "Thank you. Dinner after?"

"Deal," she grins, digging through her drawers to look for a shirt. "I have to go, gotta get dressed and head out."

"Okay. Be careful, Kate."

She smiles at his concern, says goodbye, and hangs up, tossing her phone onto her bed with a silent plop. The clothes laid out will have to do—a pair of skinny jeans and a nice maroon top—and she picks them up, wanders into the bathroom to change. The light switches on and she winces at her reflection, bringing a tentative hand up to brush at her eye. The black eye has faded some but it's still visible, still stings when she touches it, and she assumes it'll stay like that for at least another week. It's gotten easier to conceal, though, and she's able to make it look like a slight discoloration as opposed to a full on black and blue.

Grabbing her makeup bag, she pulls out the cover up and other products she needs to put on her face. Her fingers hover over the eyeliner and she wonders whether or not she actually wants to bother with it. It takes longer, it's a hassle, but it also makes her look more... _presentable_, she thinks. With a sigh she takes it out and leaves it on the sink next to the rest of the pile.

When she's done, she looks pretty much decent again, more alive. Black eye mostly covered, eyeliner on, and a touch of eye shadow just to take the attention away from the parts of the bruise that _can_ be seen.

She pulls her shirt over her head and switches into her newly chosen outfit, stopping momentarily to glance down at the damage. Her ribs are still bruised, a variety of different colored splotches overlapping, some fading quicker than others. These bruises are more visible than the one on her eye is, and they're also more painful. It still hurts when she breathes in and she can't bump into anything or brush it too hard without a searing pain, but she figures that'll ease up within the week too. She hopes, at least.

After she's dressed she grabs her bag, doing one last check in the mirror before she walks out the door.

It's finally time to leave this place.

* * *

The club is bustling, even more so than she's used to, and she takes a steadying breath before weaving through the crowd. A few people turn their heads in her direction, shoot what she assumes to be their "come hither" looks at her, but she keeps her focus straight ahead. She's not here to partake, she's here to tell Victor she's quitting.

She takes a few more steps, almost knocking into one of the girls on the floor.

"Sorry," she mutters, moving to push past but a hand grabs at her arm. She's about to shake it free and flee, but she recognizes the voice that's talking.

"Kit?" It's Celine. "Haven't seen you here in a few days."

Kate gives her a small smile. "Yeah, I'm—I haven't come by."

Celine looks at her, trailing her gaze up and down before it comes back to her face. "You look different. You working tonight?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. She shifts on her feet, anxious to just get this over with and leave. "I'm actually, uh, I'm quitting."

"_Quitting?_ But why?"

She opens her mouth but it closes seconds later. Celine's eyes are wide, as if she's genuinely surprised to hear that she's quitting, and she doesn't exactly blame her. Her entire time here she's been business—going on when she has to, doing her job, giving the other girls a quick hello and goodbye, and then she's gone. Nothing alluded to a person who was ready to quit.

She nods. "I'm not feeling up to it anymore," she shrugs. It's not a complete lie.

Celine looks her over as the lights overhead change, switching to some kind of tacky multi-colored club theme. The blonde's face drops, and Kate wonders why for a moment but then she thinks she's got it figured out.

"That's a bruise," the woman says before she has a chance to make an escape. Her hand comes out, but stops short of actually touching her face. "Did Victor do that?"

Kate's brows scrunch together. "What? No. No."

The question makes her wonder if he's actually done it before after losing his temper.

"A client?"

"Not exactly," she says on an exhale.

She really doesn't want to be talking about this.

"No one—they didn't..."

"No," Kate breathes, giving Celine a smile for her concern. She's almost surprised by it. "I'm fine. Just don't want to hang around here anymore, you know?"

Celine nods. "I do. I don't blame you."

"I have to go find Victor, tell him I'm done," she says a minute later, eyes canvassing the floor to see if he's out here. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"I hope so," the blonde says with a nod. "Take care of yourself, Kit."

Kate nods back. "You too."

She gives one last wave to Celine and then leaves, pushing past a few more people before her eyes land on Victor. He's in the corner near the back door and she can only hope he doesn't go back there because while she doesn't want to do this at all, it'll be easier if there are witnesses. She doesn't think he'll do anything violent, but she can't be too sure, not now.

"_Kit_," she hears, low and gravely and she cringes.

No. This is not what she's come here for.

She doesn't stop, just keeps moving, her legs taking her closer to the back door at a quickened pace.

An arm wraps itself around her waist and she's being lifted off the ground, pulled backwards, and all she can think to do is let out a scream—that's barely audible over the music—and kick her way out of the grasp. The shock and the contact have her bruises protesting, blinding pains shooting through her body, up and down her ribs. Tears prick at the backs of her eyes but she pushes them back, fights through the discomfort with a grind of her teeth.

She's put back onto the floor and she swivels, slightly unsteady as her arm curls around her ribs, and is met with the ever so repulsive face of Bobby. Figures—it would've been too good to be true getting out of this place without running into him.

"What the _fuck?_"

He grins. "Calm down, sweetheart. Just trying to have some fun."

Her eyes roll and she breathes, turning on her heel to remove herself from his little bubble of disgust.

"Hey, don't walk away from me, bitch." She keeps walking. "I said," he grabs her wrist, tugging her towards him, "don't walk away from me."

"Let go of me, Bobby," she grits out, piercing eyes darting from him to her wrist. "Now."

He relents, holding up his hands. "You haven't been here in a while, Kit. I missed you."

She snorts. "I'm sure you have. Goodbye, Bobby."

"When do I get my dance?" _Lap_ goes unsaid.

She pretends to consider him, fingers resting on her chin. "When you pay one of the other girls for one," she deadpans.

His eyes narrow. "No," he leers, eyes traveling up and down her body. "You're my girl. You'll dance on—I mean, _for_," he grins, "me."

"I'm not your girl," she spits.

"Of course you are. Though, you could spice it up a bit. Why don't I go take a seat while you go get changed?" He gestures to her outfit. "This is not sexy."

She resists the urge to punch him, only because she doesn't think Victor will take kindly to her knocking out a paying client and then quitting. Though, maybe if she punches him, he'll fire her instead. Win, win.

Her hands clench at her sides and she plasters on the fakest, most condescending smile she can muster. "_Goodbye_, Bobby. Enjoy the show."

"When are you coming back?" he calls after her.

She turns. "I'm not."

He takes three large strides and is already behind her, hand on the small of her back, skating around the hem of her shirt. "Don't I get some kind of parting gift?" he grunts. She wants to throw up. On him. "You know, a little something to remember you by?" His hand lowers, squeezes. "Maybe a piece of this?"

She slaps his palm off of her ass, grabs his hand in her fist and squeezes his fingers. Her thumb and index finger wrap around his and she yanks, bending his fingers back in an unnatural, and extremely painful, position. He lets out a yelp and she grins, doesn't let up.

"Don't fucking touch me," she smiles, batting her eyelashes. "I will not be touching you, least of all your _little_ man. Now I'm going to walk away, and you're going to go back to your seat and maybe order some ice for your hand. Got it?"

He grumbles but doesn't answer, so she pulls back harder.

"_Fine_," he huffs, and she lets go of his hand, reveling in his pained features as he soothes his fingers. "Slut."

"Must be pretty sad that even a _slut_ like me won't fuck you, huh?"

Her face breaks into a grin at his shocked expression as she walks away, a sense of accomplishment bubbling through her system. She didn't know telling him off would feel so good, but damn she feels great. She's been called worse, much worse, so little jabs like this don't even faze her anymore. It's all kind of hilarious, if she's being honest.

Of all the girls, she's pretty sure she's been called a slut—or a whore, which is one of Bobby's other favorite insults—more than any other.

And she's the one who doesn't give out extra services. They're such cliche digs, but given the intelligence level of the clubs clientele she's not surprised it's all they can come up with. Just because she doesn't—didn't—offer more services on the side doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the girls who do; they laugh about the supposed-to-be insults too, noting how they fall hilariously flat.

She's finally made her way to the back corner but Victor's no longer here and she sighs, knowing he's probably gone backstage. So much for there being witnesses to whatever reaction he's about to have.

Her hands push the door open just enough so she can slide through, and then she's looking both ways down the hall, considering her options. Down to the left is the back room where the girls get changed and ready, and to the right is the small, almost too pathetic break room. It's not even really a break room, just a tiny, square room with a ratty old couch and a water filter.

She doesn't even want to begin to think about what's happened on that couch.

Her best guess says that unless he's entertaining a lady friend, the odds of Victor being in the little room are slim, so she goes left, makes her way towards the back room. The door is open when she reaches it so she just walks in, does a quick assessment of the space. There are two girls getting ready, but she doesn't acknowledge them. They don't acknowledge her either.

"Victor," she says, having found him in a back corner fiddling with one of the pay cards.

He turns. "Kit," he nods, looking her over. "Hasn't healed all the way, I see."

A hand instinctively comes up, brushes beneath her slightly-concealed eye. "Probably won't for a while," she says, letting her hand fall.

Victor steps away from the wall and closer to her, and she credits herself for standing her ground and not taking a step back.

"Are you working tonight?" he asks, looking past her to the other girls who are getting ready. "Didn't see your name on the roster."

She shakes her head. "No, I'm not. That's why I came, actually—"

"Go ahead, get dressed," he nods towards the benches. "You can go on in 15."

Her mouth opens, and he's already walking away. "No, that's not what I meant."

Victor stops and looks back at her, his face void of much emotion, just a questioning glint in his eyes. "What is it that you meant then, Kit?" he asks, taking a step closer to her.

She lets out a breath. "I quit," she rushes out, both elated and terrified now that the words are finally free.

His eyes widen a fraction, and he takes another step. "Quitting?" She nods. "Why?"

She huffs, a finger pointing to her eye. "Because I signed up to strip, not to get thrown around like a rag doll."

"That's nothing," he says, waving her off. "Cindy was put in the ICU once, came back a week later and got back up there."

Her mouth hangs open. "The _ICU?_ And that's your idea of a pitch to get me to stay?"

"She was fully recovered in a few weeks after the incident," he clarifies nonchalantly, as if he's talking about a breakfast order and not the serious injury of a girl. "If she did that, you can come back after a little black eye."

"It's a bit more than a _little black eye_, Victor." His eyes question, but she shakes her head. She's not showing him. "I have no plans to end up in the ICU."

He shrugs. "Play your cards right and you won't."

Well if that isn't... cryptic. And slightly threatening.

"Look," she sighs. "I quit. I'm not coming back. Once was more than enough for me, I don't need any more black eyes."

Victor looks as if he's about to protest—or shove her into the wall himself and demand she stay—but to her surprise, he just nods.

"Fine, Kit," he says, looking at her once more. "You're one of our best, and if you wanna leave, go ahead. Just know that you can't just change your mind and walk back in here. Without some kind of payment."

He walks away and she doesn't even bother worrying about what he's implying with that last bit because she's done. He's gone and she's free from this hell hole.

No more stripping, no more sticky substances adhering to her skin, no more Bobby, no more skin tight pasties.

She smiles, letting out a shaky breath. She's really done.

She bounces towards the back door before stopping short, her breath catching in her throat. It's habit going out this way when it's crowed out front, but she can't do it now. Her breathing is rushed, her heart in her throat, pounding in her chest. She knows, realistically, that the odds of there being someone out there waiting for her when she's not even scheduled to _work_ tonight are slim to none, but that doesn't help soothe the fear gripping at her insides, curling around her ribs.

Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath.

If she's going to leave, she wants to be able to say she's gotten over this. There'll be no reason for her to come back in the future, and she won't have to wonder if she'd ever have been able to walk out this door again.

She takes a few steps, her hands braced against the back door. It swings open with her weight and she slides out, taking a hesitant step onto the small walkway. There are lights she doesn't remember being here, lining the ramp, and a small bit of tension leaves her shoulders. There's light.

A few more steps, her hands gripping tightly against the railing, and she gets flashes of being slammed against it. She shakes her head, pauses for a second. She can do this. It's fine. It's just a door, just a ramp, just a way to get out of this place and then she never has to step foot in here again.

Her car is on the other side—she parked in the front—and she realizes now that she'll have to walk around the place, but she's come too far to just back out now.

She makes it off the ramp and she leans herself against the corner of the brick, peeks her head around to make sure there's no one hiding in the shadows.

Empty.

No one's here. It's just her, and she can let out a breath.

She makes it to the front of the club easily, a bounce in her step and a smile on her face because she's truly done and she walked out the back without having a full on anxiety attack.

Or _being_ attacked. Which are both huge pluses.

* * *

"Kate?" His voice is laced with concern and anticipation and she has to bite her tongue. "Kate, are you there?"

She laughs, locking her car door and cradling her phone to her ear. "I'm here."

"How did it go? Is everything okay?"

"Went... well," she decides, unsure whether or not she wants to tell him about her run in with Bobby or what Victor actually said.

He lets out a breath. "Really?" She pauses, a beat too long. "Kate?"

"Yeah," she assures him. "I'm done."

He hesitates. "Come over?"

She opens her mouth, eyes wide, surprised by this. When he asked if she wanted to have dinner when she was done, she just assumed it was going to be at some small restaurant or maybe a street vendor. She didn't expect him to invite her over.

"It's getting kinda late," she settles on saying as she puts her seat belt on, rests her free hand on the steering wheel. "And don't you—isn't Alexis there?"

Up until this point, she's only ever gone over to his apartment late at night when Alexis was already asleep or when she was out with his mother for the day—unintentionally, honestly, as it's always just happened that way despite their lack of planning.

His silence is enough of an answer, but he does speak eventually. "Yeah," he says. "She's here."

He sounds almost sad, dejected.

"Shouldn't I wait, then?" she asks slowly. She hasn't met Alexis, and she isn't sure that's the best thing. His kid is young and she doesn't think she's any kind of influence, given her job. Well, former job.

"I thought, maybe..." Oh. He thought? Does he _want_ her to meet his daughter? "But you know, forget it, it's okay—"

"Rick," she cuts him off, takes a deep breath. "Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes," he says, hesitant, as if she's about to shut him down. "I'd really like it if you did."

She nods to herself, her fingers grip on the wheel tightening. "Then I'll come over," she decides, then adds, "Meet me downstairs first?"

"Deal," he breathes, and she can hear the relief. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

They hang up and she closes her eyes, giving herself a few minutes before she starts the car and peels out of the parking lot.

* * *

He's already standing in the lobby when she walks in, leaning up against one of the walls.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asks as she makes her way up to him.

He shrugs. "Not long." She raises a brow. "Maybe like fifteen minutes," he admits, gives a sheepish smile.

She laughs. "Sounds about right. Sorry, it took a bit longer than I expected to get here."

That's not a lie. She just doesn't tell him that she's been parked around the corner for ten of those fifteen minutes, trying to psych herself up for this.

But he just shakes his head. "No problem, don't worry about it," he smiles. "So, how did it really go?"

"It went well, really," she says, shooting him a smile. "Ran into Bobby, so that was _pleasant_."

She grins at the memory, still fully proud of herself for that one. He's nothing more than a piece of pond scum, and putting him in his place has been the most rewarding thing she could've possibly gotten out of this entire thing.

"Oh, this is a good story," he grins, gesturing to her expression. "Your face is giving it all away. Do tell."

A laugh bubbles out of her. "_Well_," she starts, swaying in her spot. "He grabbed me and was his usual, nasty self." She rolls her eyes, alleviating the concern she can see in his eyes at _grabbed me_. "Long story short, he asked me for a parting gift in the form of sex so I bent his fingers back until he backed off. He called me a slut and I made a comment about how it must be discouraging that even a slut like me won't fuck him."

He laughs and she's still grinning, but she can see the anger behind his eyes at the things Bobby said and did.

"Rick, it's fine," she says, running a hand up his forearm. "It's not a big deal."

"But it—yeah, you're right," he sighs, though she sees it in his eyes that he's not convinced. He's still upset about it. "You're out and that's all that matters, right?"

She nods. "Right. Now, you wanted me to come here..."

He pushes off the wall, no longer propped up against the tile. "Yeah! I, uh—I figured you'd be hungry after dealing with the club, and I _did_ promise you dinner. Have you eaten?"

"No, actually." She meant to grab something small on the way to the club to hold herself over but she forgot. "I haven't."

He smiles. "Excellent." One of her brows lift. "I mean, not excellent that you haven't eaten. I just mean—now we can—" He stops at her laughter, and she clamps a hand over her mouth. "Very funny, ha ha."

"It's sweet," she drawls.

He extends a hand. "So, this way?"

She hesitates for a second, but grabs his hand, stills him. "Alexis..."

His face falls a bit, the smile faltering. "If you don't want to meet her—"

"What? No," she shakes her head. "That's not it at all." She drags a hand across her face. "I just didn't think you'd want me to meet her."

"Seriously? Kate, you're my friend, of course I do," he says, putting a hand on her arm before letting it go. "Why wouldn't I?"

She lets out a forced laugh. "Most people don't want strippers around their kids."

"You're not a stripper," he reminds with a small smile.

"But I was."

He nods. "Yeah. And I once took a job in college as that poor soul who had to wear a giant hot dog suit outside in the heat. Doesn't mean anything now."

She takes a breath, chancing a glance up at him. "You're sure? Because I don't want to be a bad influence or—"

"Kate, stop," he says firmly. "You're not even remotely close to a bad influence. You did what you had to in order to make money, to put yourself through school and help your father. That kind of determination is what I want Alexis to have. I have some serious respect for strippers, no judgement here." She huffs. "Meredith, Alexis' mother—I caught her cheating on me with her director, in our bed. _That_ is something I don't want Alexis exposed to. Not you."

Her eyes widen slightly at the information, but a smile tugs at the corners of her lips and she nods. "I—okay."

A grin takes over his face and he grabs her hand, tugs her gently towards the elevator. "Come on, she's probably getting impatient. The food awaits."

"What's on the menu?"

He smirks. "You'll just have to wait and see."

She laughs and rolls her eyes, nudging his shoulder with hers.

"Alexis chose. Hope you're adventurous," he teases just as the elevator doors close.

* * *

I don't really know what else to say to express how thankful I am for all of your sweet words about this story other than... well, thank you. It means so much and I love hearing what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

"Alexis knows I'm coming, right?"

He stops just short of the door, turns towards her with a small laugh. "Yes, she knows. She's actually pretty excited about it."

A brow raises. "Excited?"

"Yeah," he nods. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually bring many people back here." _Women_ is implied, and she just stands there, unsure of what to say to that. "I don't like introducing people to Alexis if I think they're just going to disappear or if I don't feel like the friendship is going anywhere. She doesn't need the instability that comes along with that."

To say she wasn't expecting that would be an enormous understatement. What he's just said does two things to her: a part of her is flattered and taken aback that he's willing and _wanting_ to have her meet his daughter, even with the confession that this is something he doesn't normally do, and the other part of her is terrified for the same exact reason. His kid doesn't meet many people he sees—though she realizes now that many of the "dates" plastered on page six have been strictly for publicity and the actual number of lady friends he entertains is much lower—but here she is, about to meet the girl.

What if she messes it up? What if she does something wrong and he regrets it? He feels comfortable enough, trusts her enough to do this, so she feels the responsibility now to live up to whatever it is his expectations may be.

She's not even _seeing_ him. That's not what this is. They're friends, and she'll even go as far as to say they're really _good_ friends, but they're not—no, they're not.

So, she reasons with herself, this is fine.

It's just a dinner with Rick and his daughter, not a meeting with the queen.

"But that doesn't explain _why_ she's excited," she points out a minute later, after the whirlwind of thoughts have subsided.

He laughs. "Because, like I said, I don't bring too many people around. So naturally, when I _do_, she knows they're inherently great by default." He waggles his eyebrows. "And I might've told her a few things about you, that's all."

Her eyes widen. "Rick—"

"Not that," he assures her, a hand raised in defense. "Don't worry, I figured you wouldn't want to let that out, and it's probably best if I don't have to explain to her what strippers are just yet. I just told her that you're my friend, you're fun to be around, and you like Remy's shakes as much as she does."

She takes a breath. "Remy's shakes, huh?"

"She loves the strawberry," he informs her. "Now relax, because it's going to be fine. She'll love you." The keys jingle in his hands as he tries to find the right one. "Unless, of course, we make her wait any longer. Then I'm not to be held responsible for what she does."

Kate shakes her head, her eyes rolling as she nudges him forward. "Open the door then, don't keep your daughter waiting."

He obliges, turns the key in the lock before pushing the door open. She follows behind, waiting patiently beside him while he shoves the door shut again with his shoulder. His hands reach for the small jacket she'd thrown on last minute—she didn't actually _need_ a jacket to go from the car to his building, but it'll be colder when she leaves—and she gives him a small smile, helps in shrugging it off and lets him hang it on the hook to her right.

"It smells amazing in here," she comments, her lips curving upwards as the aroma makes its way through the loft and right to her. "What is it?"

His eyes twinkle. "You'll find out," he says cryptically, as if it's some huge secret. She doesn't even care what it is at this point; if it smells like this, she's positive it'll be incredible. He turns around, waves in front of him in a gesture for her to take a seat, and calls up the stairs. "Alexis!"

She uses this time not to sit down, but to really get a good look at the loft. It's different in the light, she realizes. Every other time she's come over has been late at night, the rooms already covered in darkness with only hints of light coming from the kitchen. The same homey atmosphere still resides, the one she can't quite explain since she hasn't actually really spent any time in the place; it makes her feel warm inside, brings a sense of comfort wrapping around her body like a blanket.

Rick lingers near the stairs to wait for Alexis but she lets herself wander, trail into the living room just to look around. The decorations are less garish that she might've expected, though it seems just about right. It's a different experience now, taking in the surroundings without the extra baggage of being bruised and terrified—that wasn't exactly conducive to noticing the finer details.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs brings her back, has her turning around just in time to watch as a small redhead bounces off the last step and collides with Rick's legs.

"About time," Alexis says, propping a hand on her hip.

He laughs. "Have you learned no patience?"

"From you?" The girl raises a brow. "No."

Kate can't stop the laugh that creeps out at that, at the witty banter that's coming from someone so young, and a hand comes up to cover her mouth. Rick just looks at her with a smile, one she can't help but return, and then Alexis turns to face her.

"Alexis, this is Kate," Rick introduces, nodding towards her until she starts walking back towards the twosome. "Kate, this is Alexis."

Alexis looks at her for a few seconds before she grins, holds out a hand. "Hi, Kate!"

"Nice to meet you, Alexis," Kate says, taking the offered hand to shake. The kid's adorable. "Sorry you had to wait to eat."

The girl shakes her head, then turns with a pointed stare at her father. "It's okay. I already ate a few pieces of the bread sticks anyway."

"Hey! What'd you do that for, thief?"

Alexis shrugs with a smirk. "I was hungry," she says simply. "It's good, daddy."

Kate laughs at Rick's huff, watching as he sneaks up behind his daughter when she turns her head and picks her up, his fingers tickling at her sides until she's giggling and gasping for breath.

"It was good, huh?"

"Daddy, stop!" Alexis manages between laughs. "Daddy put me down!"

His tickling picks up. "What? I can't hear you!"

"I said put me down!"

He finally relents, placing her back onto her feet with a grin. "Sorry, pumpkin, I thought you said to keep going," he says innocently, tossing a wink in Kate's direction.

Alexis narrows her eyes, gives him a faux glare. She stands her ground until he starts moving towards her again, and then she squeaks, runs in the opposite direction and takes up shelter behind Kate.

"No more, dad," Alexis says, either hand placed on Kate's hips as her head pokes out from behind.

Rick laughs, stands up straighter to look at them. "You think Kate's going to shield you from me?" he asks, his eyes moving up to look at Kate, ask her a silent question. His daughter is currently attaching herself to her hips, using her as a human shield, and though the initial shock of it had her tensing she doesn't actually mind. So she gives him a smile, a small nod that it's okay.

"Yes," the girl nods, twisting her head to look up at Kate. "_She_ won't tickle me."

"Of course not," Kate says seriously, bringing her hands down to her hips to rest on top of Alexis's. "Two against one, Rick."

He gapes. "Not fair! You can't both gang up on me," he reasons, looking down at Alexis. "You've known her for five minutes and you're already turning on dear old dad?"

Alexis grins, nods up at him, and Kate laughs. "Sorry, Rick."

"We'll see if I feed you guys now," he jokes, his voice taking on a false seriousness. "Traitors don't get any food."

The girl's hands vacate Kate's hips and she chases her father into the kitchen, her arms wrapping around his torso. "I'm sorry, daddy! I'm not a traitor!" She bats her eyelashes at him. "Can I have dinner now?"

He laughs, spinning to face her. "_Well_," he starts, dragging it out. "I guess so. Go put the plates on the table," he adds, nudging her towards the cabinets.

Kate joins him by the island, eyes on Alexis as she grabs the plates from the lowest shelf—with the added assist of a small stool—and makes her way into the dining room.

"How easily they turn," he laughs, and she nods in agreement. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

She takes a breath before shaking her head. "No," she admits. "It wasn't bad."

_Thankfully_, she adds in her head. The worst is over.

She's honestly surprised by how not awful the initial meeting went, though she probably shouldn't be considering he'd told her that it would be fine, that Alexis was excited. She's been in the loft for all of ten minutes and she's already been used as a human shield by the cutest six year old she thinks she's ever seen.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

Dinner is delicious and, despite Kate's earlier worries, goes by rather smoothly.

"Seriously, Rick, you didn't actually have to make a _feast_," she laughs, arms gesturing to the myriad of different foods that sit on the table. Bread sticks, pasta, some kind of macaroni salad that she's not sure what it consists of only that it's amazing, and about a million other baskets and containers of things. When he asked if she wanted to get dinner she didn't think he'd have so much prepared already.

He looks over the table casually. "This is not a feast. You haven't seen a true Castle family feast," he corrects. "Ask Alexis, she knows how it gets."

Alexis hears her name and her head lifts from her plate. "It's true," she acknowledges. "Last Thanksgiving dad went overboard and we were eating turkey for a month."

"A _month?_"

Rick shrugs, a grin on his face. "So I might've miscalculated how many people would actually be partaking in the Thanksgiving festitivies," he shrugs. "It was delicious, though."

"Until week two," Alexis chimes in, an exaggerated shudder taking over her body. "It was too much, daddy."

He just waves a dismissive hand, stretching his leg out under the table to nudge at his daughter's foot.

"Seriously, though. When you said Alexis chose and you hoped I was _adventurous_ this isn't what I had in mind."

"Adventurous, hungry, practically the same thing."

She huffs. "That's not even remotely accurate. And you use words for a living?"

Rick pouts but she can see the grin threatening to curve his lips and she shakes her head. Her plate is practically empty, as are both Rick and Alexis too, and she stands to bring it into the kitchen.

"You don't want more?"

Her hand instinctively goes to her stomach. "I'm tapping out. I couldn't eat any more if I wanted to."

"At least let me, then," he decides, standing to take the plate from her, waving off her protests. "You're the guest, Kate."

"A guest who is perfectly capable of walking her plate ten feet to the sink."

His head nods back towards the table. "Sit."

She sighs but obliges, taking a seat once more, and she turns her attention to the girl sitting across from her. Alexis is mature for her age, that much is obvious, and she doesn't seem to have a problem with her being here. Which, undoubtedly, makes her feel better. Sure, she and Rick are just friends, but at least now she knows that his kid doesn't hate her; it makes it easier for her to come over and visit when it's not pitch dark out.

"Do you like penguins?"

The question comes out of nowhere and catches her off guard. "I—yes, yes I do."

Alexis nods. "Good," she says, and then turns her attention back to the small bit of food she has left.

There's no other explanation, no further questions.

Kate blinks, her mouth open slightly. She hears Rick come up behind her and she turns, brows scrunched together as she beckons for him to bend down to her level. He does, and she glances between him and Alexis.

"Was that a test?"

He barks a laugh. "Did she ask you about the penguins?"

Her eyes widen as she nods. "Yes!"

"And what did you say?"

"That I like them?" she says, the statement coming out as more of a question.

"Then you passed the test."

* * *

After dinner and dessert, which was a delicious pie that she's not entirely sure she believes was home made because it was that good—_it's from last night's celebration of my mother's show_, he'd said—she gets roped—okay, maybe not _roped_, since it's not like she's being forced, but she realizes now that the big blue eyes of the smaller Castle are almost impossible to say no to—into staying and watching a movie with the two of them.

He pulls her aside shortly after Alexis mentions the movie. "You don't have to stick around, you know," he whispers, glancing towards the office where his daughter's grabbing the disc. "You're probably tired. She'll understand if you have to head home."

Kate pauses for a second, tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. He's giving her an out, she knows. It's actually kind of sweet; he knows how wary she was beforehand, probably thinks staying right now would be overdoing it all at once. He's not wrong—she is tired, the adrenaline that came from dealing with Bobby and finally ridding herself of that club finally wearing off and taking a toll on her.

Her eyes travel behind him and into the office where she can see Alexis meticulously setting up a few things, and she's pretty sure the girl has a giant blanket tucked beneath her arms.

A tiny smile creeps onto her face. He's giving her an out, but she's not entirely sure that she wants one.

"I'm fine," she says, taking a breath. "I'm sure I can stick it out for one movie."

"You're sure?"

Kate nods. "Positive," she assures him, then nudges his shoulder. "Now we should probably get in there before she starts without us."

She doesn't miss the look of happiness on his face but doesn't comment on it, just chooses to avert her eyes and shake her head, hiding her own small grin.

"Snacks first!"

Her head falls back as she groans. "_Snacks?_ Rick, we just ate dessert."

"Like an _hour_ ago," he corrects, raising a brow. Kate doesn't point out the obvious, that it most certainly hasn't been an hour and his estimation is so far off base. "We can't watch a movie without snacks, Kate. It's against the rules."

She snorts. "What rules?"

"The Chez Castle movie manual rules. It's actually rule number two: no movie shall be watched without the accompaniment of snacks."

She doesn't even bother hiding the eye roll as she follows him into the kitchen. "And rule number one would be?"

"No spoilers, duh." He pauses. "In the event that someone hasn't seen the movie before."

"Reasonable," she laughs.

Propping her hip against the island, she waits as he grabs a handful of completely unnecessary snacks—potato chips, m&amp;ms, what looks like a giant bag of chocolate chips, and, of course, a large bowl of popcorn fit for at least seven people and not the mere three that are actually in attendance.

He walks towards her a few minutes later, arms overflowing, and she shakes her head as she grabs a few things from his grip to carry. She follows him into the office then, taking notice of the decorations and furniture that surrounds her. The office is one of the rooms she hasn't been in before—along with his bedroom and every room upstairs except for the bathroom.

It feels... very him, she thinks. The leather couch, the bookshelves that seems to serve as a wall, giving her a small peek into his bedroom.

"Finally!" Alexis drawls, letting herself fall back further into the couch.

Rick laughs. "Sorry, pumpkin, but we had to get snacks. You know the rules."

"No movie can be watched without snacks," the girl recites, giving her father a look before ultimately relenting and reaching for a bag of m&amp;ms. "Next time try to get the snacks a little faster, daddy."

"I'll keep that in mind," he promises. "Now, what's on the schedule? Shrek? Harry Potter?"

Alexis shakes her head. "Nope! Shrek was last week."

He taps his head with his fingers. "Silly me, how could I forget," he muses, taking a seat in the middle of the couch, Alexis on his left. "So tell me, what'll it be?"

"The Princess Diaries!"

"Ah, little miss Mia, good choice," he appraises. "Good for you?"

Two sets of eyes are on Kate now as she continues to stand near the door. "Perfect."

"Excellent." Rick's head nods to his right, to the vacant seat on the couch, an invitation written on his face. "You can sit, or if you plan on standing for the duration of the film you might want to consider a spot with a better vantage point."

She purses her lips and he laughs, but she does move to sit down and slide into the spot beside him. One of her legs comes up and curls beneath her while the other is brought up to her chest so she can rest her arms on her knee.

Alexis's hand reaches out. "Here, Kate." She looks over to see a small blanket in the girl's hands. It's only then that she realizes Rick is also adjusting himself under one now.

"Thank you," she says, her lips curving upwards as she takes the offered blanket.

Rick turns to her with sparkling eyes and a soft smile, and she's suddenly very grateful for the dimmed lights that are hiding the blush that's rushed to her cheeks.

The spell is broken when Alexis hits play and the opening sequence with aerial shots of San Francisco—and the ever so catchy _Super Girl_—fills the room.

* * *

The vague feeling of someone shaking her shoulder begins to rouse her, along with the faint sounds of her name being called. But she just shifts, burrows deeper into her pillow.

"Kate."

There it is again.

"Kate," the voice comes back, and then she feels a hand on her knee. "Kate!"

Her eyes flutter open slowly, and she blinks a few times before fully realizing where she is; she's not in her bedroom, and the pillow she's been cuddling up to is absolutely _not_ a pillow, but Rick's shoulder. She lifts her head, running a hand over her face as she tries to remember even falling asleep.

Rick's grinning down at her when she looks up. "Morning."

She's fully alert then, bolting up into a sitting position. "It's morning?!"

"No, no," he laughs, placing a hand back onto her knee to calm her. "It's not morning, I was joking."

"Daddy, that's not nice," Alexis pipes up, a hand on her hip as she puts the movie back into its case. Her attention turns to Kate. "I always tell him it's not nice to trick people when they're sleeping."

Kate laughs, a failed attempt at hiding her amusement when Rick huffs. "That's a very good piece of advice, Alexis," she says, turning to look at Rick. "You should consider taking it."

"No ganging up on me, you've already done that today," he says, pointing between the two of them. "As I was _saying_, it's not morning, but it is almost ten."

She groans. "How long was I asleep?"

"Take the running time of the movie and subtract about a half hour," he says finally, grinning at her sigh. "You could've just said you were tired, Kate, really."

"I was—am—tired," she admits, running a hand through her hair, "but I was also sure I'd make it through a movie. Sorry I fell asleep." She looks down. "On you, apparently."

He chuckles as he stands, moving to fold the blanket he had draped over him. "I've been told I make a pretty good pillow by this one," he says, gesturing to Alexis. "Always happy to oblige."

She just nods at that, isn't really sure what else to say because she's absolutely not going to admit that she actually enjoyed using him as a pillow right now. So instead she stands, follows his lead in folding the blanket, and then places it on top of his at the edge of the couch.

"I should get going," she says, turning to face him. "It's getting late and clearly I'm more exhausted than I thought."

"We have a guest room. You could always just stay here," he offers. "It's unsafe to operate a vehicle when you're not one hundred percent, you know."

It surprising, the offer itself, and the fact that she actually finds it tempting.

She gives a small smile. "Thank you, but I couldn't. I need to get back to my apartment," she declines.

Today turned out a lot better than she thought it would, but she can't stay. Hanging out for a few extra hours might not have been overdoing it, but spending the night most definitely would.

Rick accepts this, reluctantly, and grabs the movie to put it back onto the shelf. "If you insist. But know the offer still stands."

She nods. "I'll keep that in mind."

"And thank you," he continues, his voice softening, "for tonight, for being so sweet with Alexis. She likes you."

"Of course," Kate smiles, wonders immediately why she'd have acted any other way. "She's adorable."

Alexis comes in a few minutes later, having just gone upstairs to get changed.

"Ready for bed, pumpkin?" Rick asks as he pulls her into his side.

The girl bobs her head. "Ready!" She turns her face from his chest and looks up at him. "Daddy, can Kate come back over again?"

He looks down at his daughter, then brings his eyes to her. "If it's okay with Kate, of course," he says.

"Can you, Kate?"

Alexis has her eyes on her now, big and blue and so innocent. She really is cute. "When I have time I'd like that, Alexis," she decides, the look of pure gratitude on Rick's face not going unnoticed.

"All right, you," he says then, tickling her sides before nudging her towards the door. "Go upstairs, I'll be up in a minute to tuck you in."

She complies, bouncing through the living room as she throws a, "goodnight, Kate!" behind her.

Kate turns to Rick once Alexis has disappeared upstairs and follows him out of the office, back through the same path across the living room.

"I had fun," she speaks first, chewing on her bottom lip.

"_Obviously_. Nothing says fun like The Princess Diaries, Kate."

She lets out a laugh. "Clearly," she drawls. "But really, it was a nice change from ending my days at the club. So thanks."

His eyes shine back at her. "Anytime," he says as he opens the door for her, hovering there for a minute longer. "Text me when you get back so I know you didn't pass out behind the wheel and crash into a telephone pole?"

Kate rolls her eyes but nods regardless. "Promise."

He smiles back in thanks, opening the door the rest of the way until she's able to get out and throw one last wave behind her.

"Goodnight, Kate."

* * *

I apologize for the wait on this one, but this chapter ended up being more difficult than I thought it would. Thank you all for your sweet words, and I'd love to hear what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

"A coffee shop?"

She nods, tries to keep the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder. "One of the only places hiring that I'd even consider," she tells him. "The older woman who owns the place seems sweet enough."

"No restaurants hiring?"

"I'm sure they are," she sighs. "I don't think I can work in another restaurant, though. The last one left an awful taste in my mouth."

"Bad food or bad company?"

"Bad company," she clarifies. "The other waitresses were all older than I was and always gave me a smaller cut of the tips. I planned on quitting anyway because the pay wasn't enough, so it didn't seem worth it to pick a fight."

There's rustling on his end. "That doesn't seem fair."

"It wasn't, but I don't see this older woman cutting my pay so I think I'll be okay."

His chuckle reverberates through the phone, sends a chill down her spine. "Seems fitting, don't you think? You working in a coffee shop, when you consume at least half of your body weight in coffee daily."

"That's an exaggeration," she snorts, rummaging around in her closet. "It's only a quarter of my body weight."

"Oh my mistake, how could I ever be _so_ wrong?"

She rolls her eyes, tugs a pale cream sweater off of a hanger. "That's if I even get the job."

"You'll get the job," he says immediately, the confidence in his voice overpowering her own doubts.

"I'm not the only applicant, Rick," she reminds, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. "I'm not sure_ former stripper_ is exactly what this tiny woman's looking for in a new employee."

He sighs. "You've got to stop using that against yourself, Kate. It's in the past, proved by the _former_ in front of the profession."

"I know," she breathes, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand.

"Do you?" he questions, and she swears she can see his face in front of hers, those piercing blue eyes staring into her own.

She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah."

"Good," he says. "Because that's not what everyone sees when they look at you. That's just what you see when you look in the mirror, Kate, and you need to start letting that go. You're so much more than that."

The corners of her lips tug upwards. "I know," she repeats. "I know you're right. It's just hard, you know? It's been what I do for so long and now it's... not."

"For good reason," he points out, and she winces.

Her eye's no longer dark shades of black and blue, and it's just about back to normal again. The tiniest hints of color can still be seen around the bottom of her brow bone, but it's easily hidden with a light coat of cover up and it no longer hurts, so it's not a problem. Her ribs, however, still have a while to go. The bruising has faded, her torso no longer looks like a toddler's paint canvass, but the sensitivity and soreness still remains.

It's lessened, though, and hopefully it'll be less tender within the next week.

"I don't think I'll be getting jumped outside the coffee shop," she muses.

He laughs. "No, let's hope not." There's a pause. "But maybe don't take the night shifts?"

"Rick."

"I know," he drawls. "You can take care of yourself and _blah blah blah_. I'm still allowed to worry. It's in the friend handbook, it's practically my job description."

She grins, letting out a soft laugh. "Of course," she says. "There's no sense in telling you not to worry since I know you will."

"No there is not," he confirms happily. "Might as well get used to it."

Her eyes roll. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"Nope."

"Didn't think so."

"When's your interview?" he asks after a few seconds.

She glances at the clock and stands. "Noon," she says, grabbing the pile of clothes she's laid out on the other end of the bed. "Which means I need to finish getting dressed if I don't want to be late. That wouldn't be the best first impression."

"Probably not," he agrees. "Tell me about it once you're out?"

"Will do," she promises. "I really have to go now."

"You won't need it, but good luck, Kate."

Hanging up, she quickly strips from her boy shorts and over-sized tee shirt and slips into skinny jeans and the sweater she'd picked out. It's not a super formal interview, not a fancy business franchise, so she's opted to forego the dress pant and suit combo. She looks damn good in those suit jackets, but they're a tad too much for a coffee shop.

She throws on some light makeup, just eyeliner, mascara, and enough concealer to cover her eye and make her face look more bright, more alive and fresh. Her hair's left down, and she curls the ends to make it look more presentable, sprays it with hairspray so it doesn't fall before she even gets there.

She stands, brushes a hand down the front of her sweater as she takes one final look in the mirror at her reflection to make sure she looks okay. It's as good as she's going to get, she figures, and so she grabs her purse and turns off her light.

Hopefully this will be the fresh start she needs.

* * *

"Sorry for the wait," the older woman says, walking up to the table with two coffees.

Kate shakes her head. "Oh, it's not a problem. Thank you for meeting with me, Mrs. Bishop."

"Of course, dear. You seemed like a good candidate when we first met. And please, call me Anna. Mrs. Bishop makes me feel impossibly old."

Kate smiles, taking a sip of the coffee Anna placed in front of her. It's exactly what she asked for, with a hint of vanilla, and her nose scrunches at the pleasant aroma. She's only met Anna once before, after she'd seen the sign advertising for help in the window, but she's the kind of older woman who reminds you of your own grandmother. She's got light blonde hair fading into gray, and ice blue eyes that exude experience and wisdom.

This is the most informal interview she thinks she's ever gone to.

No office, no questionnaire set out for her to give answers to. Just Anna, some coffee, and a corner table in the shop.

"Tell me about yourself, Kate," Anna requests.

She opens her mouth, straightening her back. "I'm, uh—I'm twenty," she starts slowly. "I'm a junior at NYU, studying Pre-Law, and I'm pretty sure I drink at least half of my body weight in coffee on a daily basis."

She bites her lip, resisting the urge to shake her head at how she's just admitted to Rick's earlier assertion.

Anna laughs. "Love of coffee is definitely a good quality for this job," she says. "Pre-Law is pretty taxing, must keep you very busy."

"Oh, kind of," she admits. "But I'm vigilant about my work. This job wouldn't be any different."

"I wasn't doubting your ability to do the job," Anna assures with a smile. "It was merely an observation. I had one other Pre-Law student work here before, poor thing was always dead on her feet."

Kate exhales. "I've had worse," she says quietly.

She has no doubt her time in the club was the worst of it, kept her exhausted and disgusted at all times. This coffee shop wouldn't even compare.

Anna gives her a look, one she's seen before in people when they're trying to read her, when they sense something about her that she doesn't want to expose, and she dips her head, lets her hair fall into her face as she picks up the coffee again.

The older woman doesn't comment, but her lips tug up into a soft smile.

"What about a relationship?" Anna asks, laughing at Kate's started expression. "A beauty like you is sure to have someone who'll be hanging around."

The change of topic is welcomed, but what it's been changed to is not what she'd have expected.

"Oh, uh—" She pauses. There's Rick, she supposes, but she doesn't actually know what they are. Friends? Very caring friends who sometimes verge on the line between something more? "Not really," she decides. "He's not—it's... complicated."

"Ah," Anna drawls, a knowing smile on her face. "Take it from an old woman. Seize the day. What you do on your break is none of my business, but don't let something good slip away."

Kate smiles, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. How did this job interview turn into a casual conversation with this woman telling her not to let Rick slip through her fingers?

"Okay," Anna continues, before Kate has a chance to reply. "I think I've heard all I need to hear."

"Oh, I—okay," Kate stutters. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, again."

"The pleasure was mine, Kate. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Kate's mouth drops. "What? I got the job?"

Anna chuckles. "Of course you got the job, deary. You've had the job since the last time we spoke, this was just to confirm my suspicions," she winks.

"Your—your suspicions?"

"That you're a lovely young woman who'd fit in perfectly around here." The woman looks around the shop, notices the customers filing in. "If your complications turn into something more solid, just make sure he's a lover of coffee too. It'd be a pity to see him hanging around here if he hated it."

That's all Anna says before she stands, offering a friendly pat on the shoulder and a grin as she makes her way back behind the counter, disappearing into a back room.

Kate takes a deep breath, her mouth in a closed lipped smile. This woman is as sweet as can be, the complete opposite of Victor and his greasy, slimy buddies, and she can't help the sigh of relief that escapes her throat. She got the job.

She's employed, and it's no longer as a stripper.

* * *

She hits the speed dial as soon as she exits the coffee shop, a bounce in her step.

"Y'ello," she hears his peppy greeting.

"Hey," she says, eyes on the pedestrians in front of her as she crosses the street.

"Kate! How'd it go? Is it done? What happened?"

Kate laughs. "Slow down there, bud. It went... really great, actually. Anna's really sweet."

"So..."

"So," she echoes, grinning. "I start tomorrow."

She can hear his elated squeaking, the _woo_ she's almost positive he didn't mean to yell out loud. His excitement is endearing though, and she can't wipe the smile off of her face as she weaves in and out of hurried New Yorkers.

"Congratulations, Kate! That's incredible!" he exclaims. "I'm so proud of you."

"It's just a coffee shop job, Rick."

"No," he dismisses. "This is a big deal, regardless. It marks your official end with the club, and that calls for a celebration."

Kate chuckles. "A celebration?"

"Yes," he says firmly. "A celebration. What do you say, early dinner tonight? The lovely company of two Castles?"

She chews on her lip. He's so sweet, so happy about this new chapter that's starting, and she can't help the butterflies that have taken up residence in her stomach. The dinner options in her apartment are slim to none; she thinks she has some leftover takeout, probably, but she really just planned on ordering in again.

"Okay," she agrees after a few seconds. "Dinner sounds nice."

"Great." She can practically hear the smile in his voice. "Come by in an hour or two?"

Nodding, she turns onto her street. "See you then, Rick."

* * *

Stepping off of the elevator, she makes her way towards his apartment. The strong aroma of sauces and spices hits her as soon as she nears the door and she takes a deep breath, inhales the pleasantry of it all before she finally knocks.

It takes only a few seconds before she hears footsteps shuffling towards the door, and then it's swinging open and she's immediately pulled into a hug.

"Kate," Rick greets. "Come in, come in. Dinner will be ready shortly."

"Hi, thanks," she manages after she's let go. Taking off her coat, she places it onto the hook next to her. "Smells incredible."

"Spaghetti and meatballs," he grins. "But with a kick. Some extra spices to really... well, spice it up."

She laughs. "I'm sure it'll be delicious."

Alexis comes bouncing down the stairs. "Daddy, is it—" Her eyes light up and then go shy as she takes in Kate. "Hi, Kate!"

Kate bends down, smiling at the girl. "Hi, Alexis," she says. "It's nice to see you again."

"You too!" she exclaims, hesitantly coming out from behind her father to give Kate a quick wave before running into the living room. "I'm hungry!"

He chuckles. "Patience, grasshopper. It'll be done in a few minutes." His head nods towards the kitchen, his hand extending in a sweeping gesture. "Care to help put on the finishing touches?"

She lets her hand fall into his, lets him guide her. "I'd be honored."

Following him past the island and to the stove, she hovers beside him until she's told what to do. He picks up a knife and hands it to her, instructs her to cut the vegetables that'll be going in the side salad, and she starts taking the lettuce off of the head too just because it's there. It's all placed into a bowl, and she takes it upon herself to go in the fridge, take out whatever dressings he has and put them on the counter to choose from later.

Once all of the vegetables are cut up and thrown together with the lettuce, she mixes them together and places it to the side.

Rick continues to stir the sauce, and she laughs when he makes a face every couple minutes before sprinkling in a bit more spice.

He tastes it, letting out a delighted hum.

"Satisfied?" she teases.

Dipping a spoon back into the pot, he fills it with some more sauce and swings it towards her. "Here, taste," he says, putting one hand under the spoon to keep from dripping on the floor and bringing the tip to her mouth.

She makes a noise, startled by the gesture, but she doesn't have much choice other than to open her mouth, let him spoon the sauce for her to taste. The spices hit her tongue, mix together with whatever other ingredients he's put in there, and explode.

Her eyes widen, a hand coming to cover her mouth as he retracts the spoon, and she can't help the low moan that slips out.

Rick just laughs. "That good?"

"Shut up," she mumbles, swatting at him with her free hand. "That's incredible."

When she looks up his eyes are on her, a soft smile on his face, and she meets his gaze for a few seconds before chewing on her lip, averting her eyes. He clears his throat then, breaking the spell, and turns to shut off the burner.

"I think it's done," he manages, his voice gravelly.

"Tastes done." Her arms gesture to the counter behind her. "Salad is ready to go, too."

He grins, moving past her to grab the bowl. "Excellent salad mixing," he drawls. "You have a real talent."

Kate scoffs. "Thanks, I'll be sure to put _tossing salad_ on my resume."

His mouth opens, amusement etched into his features, and she holds up a hand, stops the comment she's almost positive she knows that he's about to make.

"Don't," she says. "Just don't."

He shrugs. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she turns away, leaving the kitchen and making her way towards the living room. She shoots him a look over her shoulder, holds up one finger in warning.

"Sure, Rick."

She's in the living room with Alexis getting a show of what the girl's been drawing in her notebook when the door swings open, and the clicking of heels resounds off of the hardwood. Her head whips around, heart in her throat, as she watches a vibrant older woman bounding into the loft.

"Richard," she drawls.

"Mother? I didn't know we'd be expecting you," Rick says, ushering her in regardless.

His mother waves a hand. "Class ended early, so I thought what better way to spend the evening than with my son and darling granddaughter?"

"Don't you mean spend the evening with a free meal instead of paying for one?" he quips.

She grins, putting up her hands. "My son, the comedian." He raises a brow. "At least we don't kid ourselves, darling."

Alexis runs from the living room then, colliding with the woman and wrapping her arms around her waist. "Grams!" she yells, smiling up at her grandmother. "You're here!"

"I'm here," she echoes, her eyes catching sight of the woman in the living room as she looks over Alexis's shoulder. "And who do we have here?"

Kate freezes, feet rooted to the floor. It's Rick's mother, his _mother_. She's only just met Alexis, and the girl is adorable but she didn't think she'd be meeting his mother this soon. And if the apologetic—and slightly confused—look on Rick's face is any indication, he didn't either.

"Mother, this is Kate," Rick speaks up for her. "She's a friend."

Her legs finally move, carry her into the dining room to greet the woman.

"Martha Rodgers," the redhead says, offering a hand. "It's nice to meet you, dear."

"Likewise," Kate manages, and she's pleased with how steady her voice is.

Rick slides up behind her, resting his head on her shoulder as he whispers in her ear. "Let the show begin."

She laughs, rolling her eyes as she follows him into the dining room.

* * *

"Care to go for a walk?"

Kate turns to find Rick standing in front of where she sits on the couch, Alexis nodding off next to her. She nods, carefully removing herself from her seat so as not to wake the girl, and lets him pull her up the rest of the way.

"What about..."

"Go, kiddos," Martha says from her spot in the lounge chair. "I'll hold down the fort."

Rick grins. "And I can expect the loft to be in full working order when I return?"

She waves a dramatic hand, rolling her eyes, and Kate hides her grin as she's tugged out of the living room. They stop in the entryway to put their shoes back on, and then they're out the door, walking side by side until they're down on the sidewalk.

"So, that's your mother."

He laughs. "That's my mother," he nods. "I'm sorry this was all sprung on you. This was supposed to be a celebration for your new job, the end of your club days, and I know you didn't expect her to just show up. I didn't expect—"

"Rick, hey," she cuts him off, a hand on his arm. "It's fine. It was... unexpected, to say the least, but it was okay. She's sweet."

"_Sweet?_"

She shrugs. "What, she's nice." He raises a brow. "And... eccentric."

"There we go," he chuckles, and she rolls her eyes. "What time do you go in tomorrow?"

"Ten, I think. But I'll probably go in early, get a feel for the place before I actually have to start."

Nodding, he guides them across the street, keeps Kate next to him as they do their best to avoid running into hurried pedestrians. Her gaze travels around them, eyes jumping from one store front to the next, admiring the decorative additions hanging from the street lights. The sun's set already, leaving nothing but the bright city lights to illuminate their surroundings.

The city is her favorite at night.

It's bustling during the day, and it's just as busy at night, if not more so because of the bars and late night outings, but the way everything is lit up makes all the difference. There's something about it, the chill in the air, the sparkle of the streets.

"Are you taking me to... the park?" she asks with an amused huff when she realizes where they are.

He grins back at her. "You too old for the park, Kate?"

"Who you calling old? Last time I checked, _you_ are the one pushing thirty."

One of his hands comes to slap a this chest, covering his heart, a look of mock offense on his face. "_Ouch_. That cuts deep."

In lieu of a reply, she shoots him a smirk, moving in front of him and walking backwards so they're still facing each other. He's shaking his head, smiling back at her with amusement etched into his features. She looks back to make sure no one's behind her before turning back to him, her tongue peeking out behind her teeth.

His face falls a few seconds later, and her brows scrunch up. "Kate, watch—"

She has no time to react before her foot gets caught in a break in the pavement, knocking her off of her balance, and she goes tumbling to the ground. The shock of the fall has her freezing before her mouth opens, laughter bubbling out, and her hands brace her weight on the concrete on either side.

Rick's in front of her a second later, on his knees beside her. "Are you okay?" She keeps laughing, can't stop. "Kate. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she manages, calming down. He's still hovering, eyes wide with concern, roaming over her body. "Rick, I'm okay."

"You're sure? What about your ribs?"

She nods, giving him an appreciative smile. "I'm sure," she laughs. "Now help me up."

He extends a hand, gently tugging her from the ground, and she smooths her hands over her pants, wiping away anything that's stuck to the fabric during the fall. She puts her weight onto the ankle she'd just fallen on and winces.

"It okay?"

"Not sprained or anything, just a little sore," she decides, wiggling the ankle in question. "Come on. You brought me to this park, so let's go enjoy it."

Once he's convinced that she's okay, he smiles, leading her over to the swing set that sits in the corner of the park. There are a few kids in the park, older teenagers congregating over towards the other side, but there's no one else around this area.

He sits first, nodding towards the swing next to his, and she rolls her eyes but takes a seat anyway.

"So, do I get a friend discount?" he asks after an extended silence.

She laughs. "I haven't even started yet and you're asking for_ friend discounts?_ I knew there was an ulterior motive for your excitement," she teases.

"If I worked at a coffee shop I'd give you discounts."

"Is that so?"

He nods. "It's so."

"Come in and I'll get you a coffee, on me. Deal?" she reasons, a smile on her face when he laughs. "_Or_ you could buy us both a coffee as compensation for this rolled ankle you've given me."

His mouth drops open. "Hey, I didn't tell you to walk backwards!"

"Didn't warn me there were cracks in the pavement, either," she throws back.

"I _tried!_"

She watches a playful grin take over his face, and she turns away, leans back on the swing and stares up at the sky. It's so dark, and there aren't many stars visible, not at many as there would be if they weren't in the city, but it's nice.

He surprises her then, coming up from behind and tugging on the chains, pulling her backwards before pushing her as hard as he can. She squeaks, letting the chuckle bubble out, and uses her legs to aid in his pushing. After a few minutes, he gives her one final push and then gets back on his own swing.

"Wanna see who can go the highest?" he asks as they swing.

She turns, looking over at him. "This a challenge?"

"Absolutely."

"Deal."

He grins. "Loser buys ice cream?"

She lets a competitive grin blossom across her face. "I'd like a chocolate and vanilla twist," she says in response, a twinkle in her eye.

They take back off then, racing to see who can go the highest for the longest amount of time without letting the momentum fall, and there are trails of laughter coming from the both of them. Rick tries to grab onto the chains of her swing, to slow her down, but she manages to dodge his attempts and he almost slows himself down in the process.

"Cheaters never win, Rick," she laughs.

In the end, Kate wins, due to the fact that Rick quits the game and decides to grab her chains anyway, tugging her into him until their swings collide. It brings them down to a slow pace, and they're laughing, letting themselves sway until the swings come to a full stop.

Their gazes lock, and she feels the breath catch in her throat, but then she blinks, averts her eyes, and the moment's gone.

"So, chocolate and vanilla twist?" he asks, clearing his throat as he stands, offering her his hand.

She nods, taking his hand and giving him a small smile.

"Chocolate and vanilla twist."

* * *

**A/N:** It's been forever, I know, and I'm sorry. Now that How to Disappear is finished, this is next on my to-do list. Since this was meant to be a one shot, I hadn't really mapped it out much further, so I'm hoping to get that done and begin uploading as regularly as I can. All I ask is that you be patient while I get back into the swing of things with this one, and thank you so much for those of you who are still sticking around!


	7. Chapter 7

Her shifts usually start around 10:30, giving her ten minutes to get to the coffee shop from her 9-10:20 Constitutional Law class. Anna's understanding about her class schedule, and she lets Kate work around it and pick up a few extra hours here and there when she can. Weekends she works the full eight hours, though she's been staying later for the past couple of weeks. During the school week, she stays until she has to leave for her class, and then she's back until closing.

It's a lot, but she's got it under control.

Rick comes in sometimes, takes full advantage of the fact that she works in this quaint little shop that's quieter than most, and makes himself at home at one of the back tables.

"Hi, what can I get—" She turns back from the register, comes face to face with the man himself. "Rick, what are you doing?"

He grins. "Checking up on my favorite barista."

She rolls her eyes. "Your favorite barista is working, you know."

"And I'm ordering," he counters, plucking out a ten dollar bill and shoving it towards her. "One medium coffee, extra cream and sugar please."

Taking the money, she puts it into the register and begins counting out his change.

"Oh, no. No change."

"Rick."

"What, it's a tip," he says, ignoring her glare. "You're a wonderful worker."

She huffs out a sigh. "You don't give baristas tips."

"Says who?"

"Says... I don't know, everyone. There's a tip jar over there," she says, nodding to the far left.

She holds out the change, shakes her hand in his direction, but he just shoots her a lopsided grin and refuses to take it. He shakes his head, using his fingers to curl her hand around the bills and shove them back towards her.

"Not taking the tip back, Kate," he tells her, and she blows out a breath. "You can put it in the register or that tip jar if you don't want it, but don't give it back."

With a sigh, she shoves his tip to the side of the counter while she makes his coffee. "So, where are you off to now?"

"Well, Mother has apparently been directing this small play at a children's theater in her off time," he says with an amused smirk. "How they allowed her to do that is _beyond_ me, but it opens in an hour so I'll be watching that unfold. You free?"

She offers him a regretful smile. "No, sorry. I work late today."

He nods. "You always work this late?"

There's a pause where she hesitates. "Uh, sometimes," she says. Sometimes, practically every day, same thing. "Anna's short on staff right now, so I'm just helping out until she hires someone else."

Lies.

Anna's not short on staff. There are actually more workers than necessary, but she can't tell him that. She can't tell him that she's been asking Anna to work extra hours, that she's been staying way past her final shift, that she's been working practically every minute she's not in class or with him.

She's fallen asleep in her morning classes more than once, running on no sleep after late shifts that aren't hers to begin with. Her professors are understanding, know somehow that she's juggling an overload of classes and what's essentially a full time job; no one's said much of anything yet, just that she really needs to get more rest and pay attention, but she knows she can't keep this up.

Even if no one says anything, if they keep cutting her slack because she's usually an exceptional student, she can't keep missing the lectures.

Rick's already throwing tips at her, though she knows he's not doing it because he thinks she needs it, he's just being himself and wants to tip a friend. But if he knew that she was picking up all of these hours because she's trying to make ends meet and get her rent in on time, he'd be concerned. He'd be _too _concerned, and she knows he'd beg her to let him help.

It's sweet, _he's_ sweet, but she can't, won't, take any more of his money.

She's thrilled to be out of the club, she really is, but she misses the money. Five hundred a night, usually double on busy nights or the nights when Bobby would come in, drunk and on some mix of drugs, sliding twenties into her bottoms instead of singles. The coffee shop is great, and Anna is the quite possibly the sweetest boss she's ever had the pleasure of working for, but nine dollars an hour pales in comparison to her previous line of work.

But it's okay, because she's got it covered. Or she will.

"Here you go," she says, handing his coffee over with a soft smile. "Tell me how the play goes?"

"Oh, you'll get a play by play, don't worry."

Chuckling, she gives a slow nod. "I'd expect nothing less." She pauses. "So, I'll talk to you later?"

"Definitely. Get together after your shift for coffee?"

She laughs. "Maybe not coffee," she teases, gesturing around her. "I'll probably want a break after all of this."

"You make a good point," he agrees with an easy smile. "A walk and some street hot dogs then? I can reenact the play for you in great detail."

She grins, tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. "Sounds perfect."

"It's a plan, then. Don't work too hard, now," he says, tossing her a wink as he turns around.

Once he's out the door, out of sight, she sighs and grabs his tip, stashes it into her pocket. She hates that she's taking it.

She steels herself once more, turning back to the counter and the next customer with a bright, slightly tired smile.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?"

* * *

She collapses onto the couch the second she steps into her apartment after work. It's only seven but she's exhausted, having been in class early this morning and on her feet all day afterwards, and she could really use some sleep.

But she got a slew of texts from Rick earlier, his promised play by play of his mother's show, and they served as a steady and welcomed distraction.

Apparently there were costumes that fell apart, children who couldn't pronounce what they were supposed to, and hilarious stage directions, but overall it wasn't bad. He even seems to be proud of his mother and what she's managed to do with the elementary school kids.

Proud and a bit—or extremely—amused.

They're supposed to meet up in an hour to go for that walk and those hot dogs, so a nap is out of the question.

Instead, she peels her eyes open and drags her body into the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine. She knows she said she'd want a break from the coffee after working in a coffee shop all day, and she does, but she also knows she needs the caffeine to keep her functioning.

She really should regret all those years of depending on the stuff. Maybe if she hadn't, she'd be able to ward off exhaustion without using it as a crutch.

It finishes in a few minutes and she grabs the mug, curls her fingers around the warm ceramic, and pads back into the living room. She sinks into the couch once more, leaning back against the cushions as she cradles the coffee to her chest. Her feet come to rest on the coffee table, and she wiggles her toes, stretching out her legs and pointing her feet to stretch them.

Sure, standing on her feet brings some pain along with it, but it's nothing compared to the excruciating pain that came with standing—and dancing, twirling, gyrating—on six inch stiletto heels all night.

Her poor toes, scream as they might, have definitely seen worse.

She finishes off her coffee and leans over to place the mug on the table, and then pulls her legs up until they're beneath her body. She has to come up with a game plan, she decides, a plan to get everything back on track.

In her head, she makes a list of it all. She has to pay her rent, which she'll be able to do with the money she's getting from all of these extra hours. Her father's rehab is completely paid off now, thanks to Rick, and her school isn't too much of a worry at the moment. The account she's been using to pay for her father's rehab, originally meant for her schooling, still has enough money in it to get her through for a bit longer.

The only real issues are another bill or two and the daily expenses; without the extra money she's so used to from the club, it's been tight.

If she cuts back on the takeout and buys a few groceries she can make last, it should be fine.

Yeah, she'll be fine. She has it all under control.

* * *

She wakes to a shrill ringing in her ear. Her eyes peel open and she blinks a few time before she bolts up, running a hand down her face.

"Shit," she mumbles, shaking her hair out.

She fell asleep. She doesn't know _how_, has no recollection of it happening, but she managed to fall asleep.

Her fingers fumble with her phone and she moans when she sees the time—9:00. She was supposed to meet Rick an hour ago.

She takes a breath, waits a beat, and then answers. "Hi," she says quietly, voice still rough with sleep.

"Kate," he breathes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, yeah," she mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm so sorry. I fell asleep. And I thought I was doing such a great job of staying up, too."

"No, it's okay. I'm just glad you're alright," he tells her, and the knots release in her chest. "I tend to get concerned when a usually punctual friend of mine doesn't show up and doesn't answer her phone."

She groans. "Sorry, Rick," she says, but he's chuckling in her ear. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," he gets out. "You just sound really adorable when you're tired."

Her eyes roll as she tugs her legs back up to her chest. "Oh yeah, _so_ adorable," she echoes. "Why don't you come over here and I'll show you just how adorable I can be when I'm tired."

It's supposed to come off as a light hearted threat, a joke, because she gets grumpy when she's exhausted, but as soon as it leaves her mouth she realizes the possible double meaning.

"Is that a promise?" he asks, voice low, and she can practically see the waggling of his brows.

Okay, yup, definitely took it somewhere else.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly very glad that he can't see her.

"You're a child."

He laughs, throaty and rich. "Don't look at me, you're the one who brought it up."

"I didn't bring anything up. That was a _threat_."

"Your threats fall flat when you're tired," he states matter-of-factly.

She lets out a huff of a laugh and pushes herself off of the couch, holding the phone to hear ear as she heads into the kitchen. Tossing her mug into the sink, she swivels on her heel and makes her way towards her room.

"I can still meet you for that walk," she says then, rifling through her closet. Her clothes are wrinkled from her impromptu nap and, not to mention, it's her work uniform. "I just have to change."

"No, Kate," she hears, and she pauses. What? "You're exhausted. We can take a rain check on the walk."

Sighing, she sits on the edge of her bed. "I'm sorry," she repeats.

"You really need to stop apologizing. It's not a problem."

"What about the hot dogs?"

Truth be told, as tired as she may be, she really does still want a hot dog from one of the street vendors.

He laughs. "You can still have a hot dog."

"Not if we don't go on our walk to get them," she tosses back. "Can't have what I don't actually go get."

"Sure you can."

She crosses one leg over the other. "And how would I do that?"

"By opening your door."

By—_what?_

Standing from her bed, she strides through the living room and towards the entryway. "Rick... Where are you?" It's a dumb question, one she's pretty sure she already knows the answer to, but she asks anyway.

She gets her answer as soon as she opens the door, comes face to face with a familiar smile.

"Right here," he greets, hanging up the phone call and holding out a bag. "Hot dogs?"

Twisting her mouth to the side, she leans against the door frame, crosses her arms over her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing you hot dogs," he says, as if she should know this. "And you've just confirmed that you still _want_ said hot dogs, so..." His voice trails off as he holds the bag higher, waves it around until she rolls her eyes, grabs it from him.

She scoffs, but moves out of the way, gesturing for him to follow. "I've gathered as much," she says over her shoulder as she makes her way towards the kitchen. "I mean what are you doing _here_. At my apartment. Right now."

"Ah," he says, his nose scrunching up. "Well, I was already out when you finally answered, and since you fell asleep right after work I assumed that you hadn't eaten and would be hungry, so... hot dogs, as promised, delivered to your door."

"That's actually really sweet," she says, a soft smile on her face as she opens the bag. "Thanks, Rick."

"You sound surprised," he grins. "But I'm happy to help. I know you have next to nothing in this apartment pretty much _always_, so I can't let you go hungry now, can I?"

She chooses to ignore his dig at her eating habits and food supply. Mostly because he's not wrong.

"Oh of course not," she says seriously. "How would that look for your _chivalrous _persona?"

"Persona? Kate, this is not a _persona_," he says, a hand over his chest in mock offense.

She just laughs. "Either way, I thank you for this late dinner." Once she's grabbed hers, she takes his out too, placing all of them onto the counter. "Sit."

"Oh, that's okay, you're tired. I was just going to drop them off and head home, let you get some rest."

Kate shakes her head, pulling out a chair to sit. "I'm awake for now, and I don't want to eat these hot dogs by myself," she tells him, giving a pointed look and then nodding towards the other chair.

"You sure?"

"I would've kicked you out already if I wasn't sure," she teases. "Now sit."

"Sitting," he salutes, taking his seat. She slides his hot dog over to him and he grabs it with a smile. "How was the rest of your shift?"

She shrugs. "Not bad. Gave people their coffee, their pastries, you know, the usual. Not all that glamorous a life," she laughs. "Some guy did come in and order 'two venti mocha lattes and one tall pumpkin spice latte' though, and I had to inform him that he wasn't, in fact, in Starbucks."

Rick laughs around a bite of his hot dog. "You hear about people going into Starbucks asking for small, medium, and large drinks, but you don't hear the opposite."

"I know," she nods. "He seemed genuinely confused when he realized he was just in a normal coffee shop."

"He was on a bluetooth, wasn't he."

She narrows her eyes. "Yeah..."

"You can just tell," he explains at her look, and she huffs. "They're always the ones talking _super_ loudly, making comments like 'I need the briefing on my desk _now_, Maureen!' or 'This script is so _bland_, I need _substance_, I need some _real_ talent!' while completely ignoring their surroundings."

He's making hand gestures, contorting his face into a ridiculous expression as he mimics these businessmen and she can't help but laugh, indulge in it.

"I can't say that you're wrong," she decides.

He grins. "Because you know I'm right," he says confidently, pausing for a moment while they both continue to eat. "How are classes going? You have a break soon, right?"

She doesn't let it show on her face, the way her stomach lurches at his question, the urge to bypass his innocent curiosity. He's only asking because he's just genuinely interested, but she was hoping it wouldn't come up.

"Uh, they're fine," she says slowly. Not exactly the truth, but not a lie. _They're_ fine. It's her lack of sleep that's causing a problem. "And yeah. It's not much of a break, more like a long weekend, but it's a few days. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking," he starts, and she raises a brow.

"That's dangerous."

"Ha ha," he deadpans, and she grins, waving a hand for him to continue. "As I was _saying_, I was thinking that we could do something."

She blinks. "Do something?"

"Yeah," he nods. "You know, hang out."

"And here I was thinking that we already hang out," she teases, wrapping the remainder of her hot dog back up and leaning her elbows on the counter.

His eyes fall to the table before lifting back to hers and oh, they're especially blue right now, sparkling in the dim lighting of her kitchen. It catches her off guard, has her breath catching in her throat.

"I thought maybe we could hang out in a restaurant," he says slowly. "Maybe with me in a suit and you in... well, anything really, because you look incredible in whatever you put on."

She can feel a blush rising to her cheeks under his words, his gaze.

Oh, is he... he is, isn't he.

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"No," he says, and now she's confused. "I'm not asking you on a date."

"Okay," she starts, but he holds up a hand.

"When I ask you on a date, you'll know," he grins, and one brow arches. So he _does_ plan on asking her on a date? But he's not doing it now? She's not sure what's happening. "I'm asking to take you out somewhere nice. You're my best friend, Kate, and you're working yourself ragged. You don't think I see it, but I do."

Her heart jumps in her chest, but she shouldn't be all that surprised. It's not too difficult to deduce; working long hours, falling asleep and forgetting to meet him. She's sure she looks as exhausted as she is, too.

But that's all he knows, she tells herself, letting the nerves settle. He knows she's working a lot, doesn't know why. It's fine.

"So," he continues, and her eyes lift back to his. "You deserve a night out. Not a night out like in the club, just a nice night where you can relax, get dolled up if you want or just go in sweats and a t-shirt if you're more comfortable, and you don't have to worry about anything. A restaurant, a spa, whatever you want. Let yourself get pampered for a change."

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she dips her head. This is so... _him_. She doesn't even know what to say, so she continues to look at the counter top, and then she rests her chin in her palms.

A night out, with Rick, just so she can let her hair down and relax.

"You don't have to do that," she says first, but he doesn't look deterred.

"I know, but I want to. You deserve it, Kate." He reaches over, lifts her chin, doesn't speak again until she's looking at him. "So what do you say?"

What does she say? What _can_ she say when he's looking at her with wide, hopeful eyes and a genuine desire to give her a real day off.

"I'd—yeah, Rick," she smiles. "I'd like that."

"Excellent," he beams at her, eyes crinkling around the edges. He stands then, rounds the table and wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her off the stool. "Now come."

She twists, turning to look at him with furrowed brows. "What are you doing?"

"You can barely keep your eyes open," he laughs, and she goes to protest but he makes a noise of disapproval. "Go, get changed, get comfortable."

"I have to put away—"

He shakes his head, ushering her into the hallway, in the general direction of where he assumes her room is. "I got it. I'll put everything away."

She watches as he gives her a smile and one last nudge before heading back into the kitchen, putting her hot dog back in the fridge and the other containers back onto their respective shelves. After a few seconds of observing, she makes her way into her room and changes quickly, throwing on a pair of sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

"All done," he says upon her return.

"Thanks, Rick."

"It's nothing," he waves her off, but she just rolls her eyes, hesitating for a second before she pushes onto her toes and wraps her arms around his neck. "But you're welcome, anyway," he laughs into her hair.

When she pulls away, she notices that he has his jacket in his hands.

"I'm gonna head out," he says, and she nods. "I know you'll be at work or class bright and early, but get some sleep, okay?"

"I'll be out in half an hour, I'm sure," she assures him, and she's not entirely sure she'll even make it to the thirty minute mark. If he wasn't standing in front of her, demanding her attention, she's sure she'd pass out right here.

"Good. And we'll talk about that 'Kate finally relaxes' day later?"

She lets out a small huff but nods. "Later."

"Until tomorrow, Kate," he says, tossing one last grin over his shoulder before he makes his way into the hallway.

She says goodnight and closes the door behind her, shaking her head at the way the corners of her lips tug upwards.

Ridiculous.

But ridiculous as it is, the smile doesn't leave her face even as she slides beneath the covers and drifts off into some much needed sleep.

* * *

Thank you everyone for your sweet comments, and your patience. You're all incredible.


	8. Chapter 8

She groans, buries her face deeper into the pillow and folds the other end of it over her ears when her alarm goes off. It stops by itself and she breathes a sigh of relief, wriggles under her blankets and begins to drift back into a deep sleep when it starts again.

Alarms don't go on and off again.

It's not her alarm, it's her phone, and she has to bite back the moan that wants to escape.

One eye peels open and it's dark. It's way too dark, which means it's way too early for her phone to be ringing. With a sigh she releases her arm, lets the pillow flop back to its rightful position, and shimmies her way over towards the nightstand. Once she's grabbed the offending device, her eyes squint against the bright light of the home screen.

It's a number she doesn't recognize.

She tosses it back onto the surface and curls back into her covers when it goes off a third time, and this time she does let out a growl. She doesn't even open her eyes, just blindly reaches for the phone and answers it.

"What?" she murmurs.

"Kit."

Her heart stutters in her chest and her eyes pop open at the name that hasn't been used in a while. She sits up, bracing her elbows on the mattress as she holds her weight, and her free hand scrapes through her hair.

"Who is this?"

"That's not important."

There's an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "You called me in the middle of the night—three times, might I add—so I _think_ I'm entitled to a name," she tells the man.

He lets out a small, rough chuckle. "You can call me Dante."

"Okay, fine," she mutters, losing her patience. "How did you get this number?"

"I'm a friend of Victor's."

His name is all it takes to make her blood run cold, her heart pound aggressively against her chest as she moves sit up completely. She knew using her real number at the club was a bad idea, but she didn't have the extra cash at the time to just get a separate phone, and when she did, she just didn't want to deal with it. It was a no questions asked kind of place, so no one—not even Victor—knows her real name.

At least she has that still.

"That makes one of us," she bites back. "Why are you calling me?"

"I have a proposition for you," he says.

"I'm not interested."

Her stomach twists at the dull laugh that resounds in her ear. "Oh, I think you will be."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because it has a pay out of $1,000."

She pales, her breathing quickening in its pace. She's intrigued. She hates that she's intrigued. But with a possibility of a thousand dollars, a thousand dollars that she could definitely use right now, she can't stop herself from wondering what calls for that kind of pay out.

Nothing legal, she can already tell.

"What is it," she sighs the question into the receiver.

"Victor wants you to do a... job, of sorts, for him," he says, and she furrows her brow. This doesn't make sense.

"Why isn't he calling me himself, then? And why me?"

Dante just makes a noncommittal noise. "I'm the middle man, you could say. He said you were always one of his best girls, and even though you decided to leave it doesn't change that."

She bristles at being called one of Victor's girls. It makes everything sound so much dirtier, like there was more that went on behind the scenes than meets the eye. And while that could have been true for some of the other girls, she's sure it was, it was never the case for her. She was never one of _his girls_, never belonged to him or anyone else.

That hasn't changed.

"Okay," she draws out, lets her eyes fall closed. He needs to get to the point, because she needs sleep. "What is this 'job'?"

"There's gonna be a drop. Someone will pick up the package at the back door of the club tomorrow at one, and bring it to the address written on the box. That someone is you, Kit," he says, and she doesn't have a chance to reply before he's continuing. "Pick it up, drop off the china white, maybe entertain the man while you're there, and then you leave. Money made."

She blinks. "China white—you want me to do a _heroin drop?_" she asks incredulously. "No."

"Come on, Kit. It's just a drop."

"'Maybe entertain the man while you're there'," she echoes, mimics his voice.

He huffs. "So you have a little fun in the meantime," he says, so casual, as if this is normal. "You seem tense, it'll take the edge off."

"No," she repeats. She's not—she never did the drugs that ran through the club, she doesn't plan to start now. "I said I'm not interested."

"You'll change your mind, Kit."

"I won't."

There's a laugh, and she balls her fists in her lap. "Keep telling yourself that," he breathes. "That 1k is sounding good to you right now, you'll come around. Call this number before one tomorrow when you reconsider."

She hangs up, doesn't offer any parting words, and all but throws her phone onto the other side of the bed. Collapsing back onto the mattress, she eases her head back against the pillows and stares at the ceiling.

Ridiculous.

She hates that the prospect of getting a thousand dollars is appealing, so appealing she considered for a brief moment actually doing the drop. Shaking her head, she turns onto her side, curls one hand underneath her pillow and the other beneath her chin. That's not who she is, one who does anything for money.

On its own, it's awful. Orchestrated by Victor, it's worse.

She knew he ran something through the club, knew from the occasional drugs that would make the rounds every so often, but she's never taken part in any capacity. It's not her thing. Alcohol is her poison of choice.

She's not doing it.

Taking a deep breath, she pulls the blankets up over her shoulders and closes her eyes, wills herself to fall back into the peaceful sleep she was woken from.

* * *

For the second time in too few hours, she wakes to the sound of her phone. She ignores it this time, though, lets it go to voicemail and turns over, squeezes her eyes shut tightly. To her pleasure, her phone doesn't ring again. To her displeasure, he alarm goes off not five minutes later.

With a groan, she lifts her head, rolls over to silence the buzzing.

It's her only day off for the week, one she didn't even want but Anna had insisted she take. "You've been working every night until closing, Kate," she'd said. "I don't want to see you here tomorrow. And that's an order."

And so here she is, lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling.

When her phone rings a third time, she doesn't bother looking at the caller ID, just answers it with a grumbled, "I said _no_."

"Miss Beckett?" a voice asks, and it's not the deep tone of Dante, her early morning caller.

"Uh, who is this?"

Someone from her building, it turns out. The superintendent. She's not sure how she's done it, absolutely no idea, but she got the dates mixed up on her calendar for this month. Something about rent rebates and the rent being due a few days earlier than usual, just to account for the time it'll take to get everyone's paperwork done.

She doesn't ask, doesn't say much other than_ sorry about that,_ _I'll have it_ when they tell her she's now almost two days late on the rent she thought she had a few more days to get together.

Running a hand through her hair, down her face, she lets out a muffled grunt into her palms. Her plan of using the money from this coming paycheck to pay off her rent has just been shot to hell, given that they don't get paid until two days after she needs to have this in.

She has to figure something else out.

Shoving the blankets off of her body, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed, pushes herself up with a groan. She wanders into the kitchen to make coffee, sits at the counter with the ceramic warming her chilled fingers, when her head falls onto the counter top. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself and work through some kind of solution.

She doesn't have enough in petty cash to just pay it off in full, doesn't want to dip into the little she still has in one of her accounts, and while she knows Rick would lend her the money in a heartbeat, likely with no questions asked if that's how she wanted to play it, she can't do it. It's pride, she knows, and she should just swallow it and ask. Get it over with, pay him back when her check comes in and then it'll all go back to normal next month when the deadlines are back on their usual schedule. She won't have to worry about it, and she'll be on time from here on out.

_Should_, but she won't.

She finishes off another cup of coffee before finally making her way back into her bedroom and tugging on a pair of leggings and a light sweater. The body of the fabric is snug, form fitting, but the sleeves are longer and she's able to pull them past her hands, curling her now-covered fingers in the material.

As she's walking back from her closet she catches sight of her phone where she left it on the nightstand. She blinks a few times, staring at it, her hands wringing against her stomach. Sitting back onto the edge of the bed, she rests her elbows on her knees and lowers her head.

She can't.

She won't. Right?

With a deep breath, she lifts her head, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

It's wrong, it's completely and utterly wrong, and she can't even believe she's entertaining the idea. She's not a drug mule, not in any sense of the word, and she'd very much like to keep it that way.

But a _thousand dollars_.

She needs that money. With it, she could pay off her rent in no time and then have plenty extra to hold her over for a little while. Save the rest, add a bit more from each paycheck until she gets a nice savings going.

When the phone is in her hands, fingers hovering over the number that called her many hours before in the dead of night, her stomach falls, both nerves and disgust entering her system.

The same voice answers, and she doesn't bother with a greeting, just a regretful, "Okay."

* * *

She should take a cab to the club, or even the subway, but she decides to walk instead. The cool air will do her some good, and she needs the time to clear her thoughts anyway, clear away anything that's telling her this is a good idea.

It's not, and she knows it.

She doesn't _want_ to do it, but it's just this once, which is exactly what she'd told Dante on the phone when she told him she'd do it. He'd laughed in her face—or in her ear, really—and given a sarcastic _sure_. He might not be sure, but she is.

Bypassing fellow New Yorkers, she keeps her head down. She doesn't need to focus on anything else.

All she has to do is go to the club, pick up this package, and bring it to the apartment on the label. She'd already been expressly clear that she's not going inside the apartment. Whoever wants the package can come out and get it from her, or she'll leave it on the stoop and they can come out once she's left.

She knows this is stupid, but she's not _that_ stupid. She's not taking her chances. There's no shortage of girls that've gone missing or shown up beaten, raped, because of something like this. She knows that, and she refuses to become the next one.

There won't be any going inside, no _entertaining_ whoever this man is, no sampling the merchandise she's dropping off. None of that.

Pulling her jacket closer to her body, she pushes through the crowd, looks both ways before darting across the street. She's taking a different route to the club than she normally does when she walks, mostly because she wants some more time to herself. There's still time before she's supposed to pick it up anyway, so while she should keep going, she's in no rush.

When she passes a park, she's weaving back and forth between parents with strollers and toddler's straggling at their sides, and she cuts through to enjoy the clutter-less paths.

She thinks she hears her name and her head turns, but she sees no one, and so she continues moving. Probably for someone else.

"Kate!"

Turning once more, she sees a man and a small redhead standing on the playground a few yards away. It's Rick and Alexis, and her heart sinks.

She disguises it though, puts on a smile as she gives them a small wave and wanders over to where they are.

"Kate, hey," Rick says, giving her a once over. "What are you doing here?"

The usual answer of _nothing_ would be way too suspicious, and so she doesn't use it.

"Just thought I could use a walk," she tells them. "What are you guys doing here, doesn't Alexis have school?"

He shakes his head. "Some kind of obscure religious holiday, they have off. I'm more than happy to have this one to myself for the day, though," he says, shaking Alexis into his side.

She can't help but smile at them then, nodding at his answer.

"Can you stay and play, Kate?" the girl asks, looking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes.

Oh no. How is she supposed to say no to that? Looking down at her watch, she realizes she still has some time, and so she returns with a small smile.

"Sure," she nods. "I'm sure I could hang out for a little bit before I have to leave."

Rick grins. "Perfect." He turns to Alexis. "Swings, frisbee, or the money bars?"

Alexis's tongue peeks out while she thinks, and then she's bouncing on her feet. "Frisbee!"

"Isn't frisbee usually a summer or spring activity?" she asks, a brow arched.

"Frisbee is an all the time activity, Kate," Rick says, a hand over his chest. "I can't believe you'd insinuate otherwise."

She huffs out a laugh, holds up her hands in surrender. "My apologies. So, where's this frisbee of yours?" When he walks over to his bag and comes back with a Spice Girls themed frisbee, she has to clamp her hands over mouth. "That's a very... decorative frisbee you have there, Rick."

She's teasing him, she's teasing him and she knows he knows it, and his mouth twists to the side in a smirk.

"I'll have you know that the Spice Girls are one of the best girl groups of all time," he says matter-of-factly, and then his shoulders deflate. "And this was the last one they had at the store."

"Of course it was."

"I'll stand behind my frisbee."

"How about you stand behind that tree and throw," she retorts, nodding towards an open patch of grass.

Alexis runs towards it, already there by the time the two adults make their way over. "Come _on_, guys!"

Five minutes later, after Rick has gone through his show of checking the wind velocity and angle with his finger, eyes squinted as he holds it up to the air, he's finally determined it to be the right time to begin. They're standing in a triangle of sorts, Rick in front of the tree she'd mentioned before, Alexis off to his right, and Kate all the way to his left and Alexis's right, completing the shape.

Everything goes perfectly fine until the wind picks up and the frisbee goes flying everywhere. During one of the retrieval excursions, after it ended up almost landing in a baby stroller, she rolls her eyes, stifling her cackle when the owner of the baby stroller gives Rick a glare.

He jogs back with the frisbee in hand and a grin on his face, and she shakes her head.

"You almost took out a baby, Rick," she teases.

He gapes. "It was empty!"

She knows this.

"Could've knocked that kid out."

"Empty."

"They could've had a concussion," she says, amusement weaved in her tone.

His eyes sparkle, and he starts walking towards her, but she stands her ground. She just grins at him, twists her mouth to the side, watching as he advances slowly. It's only when he's a few feet away that she starts to back away, wiggling her brows at him.

"Poor thing never had a chance," she laments with a dramatic sigh.

It takes her by surprise, the way he pounces, closing the gap between them by wrapping his arms around her middle and trying to get her to relent.

"It was empty, Kate," he tells her, amusement in his own voice.

"I don't know, Rick, I saw some tiny wisps of hair peeking out," she manages between puffs of laughter.

He shakes his head, laughs. "Come on, admit it. The stroller was empty and I did not decapitate a baby."

"In my defense, I said nothing about decapitation," she points out, and he huffs.

She doesn't know when it happens, but she loses her balance when she's not paying attention to what they're doing, trips backwards on a branch, and Rick isn't fast enough to pull her up. They both tumble to the ground, Rick on top of her and their limbs tangled together on the grass.

Kate squeaks upon impact, and she vaguely registers him asking if she's okay, concerned eyes on her, but she just laughs, leans her head back so she's lying completely on the ground. He joins in then, laughs at what's just happened and the way they've been taken down by a branch no bigger than his arm.

When she looks up next, he's staring at her, eyes bright and clear, and she can't wipe the smile off of her face. It mirrors his, and they lie there for a few more minutes even after he's rolled off of her and now sits beside her.

"Guys!" Alexis calls finally, vacating her spot by the tree to find them. "Are you okay?"

They both nod. "We're good, pumpkin," he laughs as he stands. He extends his hand to her, pulls her up, and she wipes at her pants to get off any dirt and leaves. "Do you have to head out now?"

The smile drops from her face, and she looks at her watch. It's been much longer than she had planned to stay, much longer than she should've stayed if she wanted to get to the club, pick up the package, and go. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth with a sigh.

If she leaves now, she'll make it on time.

She looks at Rick, the hopefulness disguised as understanding in his eyes, and her gaze falls.

"Uh, no," she decides, shakes her head. "I don't need to be anywhere."

The money isn't all that important anymore, not when she's right here with him. She'll ask for a three day extension on her rent, she decides. She'll be fine. Her choice is finalized when he grins at her, and she watches as Alexis, half-hidden behind her father, echoes the sentiment.

"Great," he beams, nodding behind them. "What do you say to some ice cream?"

Alexis bounces on her toes, already leading the way to wherever it is she assumes they're going, and Kate laughs, offers him a small nod.

"I'd say that sounds perfect."

With a sigh of relief and a small smile, she doesn't go.

* * *

You're all amazing, thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

"Here you go," she says, handing a coffee to the next customer with a smile.

The coffee shop is busiest this time of day, but she's also learned that it's when most customers will actually leave tips in the tip jar at the end of the counter. It's split between all of the workers, but because it's a small business and there aren't many of them to begin with, they each get a decent cut.

It's been a few days since she's seen Rick, between her ridiculous schedule with the shop, school, and all of the new book things he has to deal with. He still texts every day, as usual, and asks how she's doing, how classes are going.

She's managed to get a few extra hours of sleep these past couple of days, so when she tells him that classes are okay, it's not a lie.

"Kate," she hears, and she turns to see Anna hovering by the door to the back room, nodding her head in a motion for her to come over.

Kate finishes up what she's doing and gestures to one of the other guys, asks for him to pick up where she's left off, and then makes her way towards Anna.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, and the woman smiles, nods.

"Everything's good," Anna assures her, then moves towards the little break table. "Come, sit."

She quirks a brow but follows anyway, pulls out one of the chairs and sits opposite Anna, waiting for the older woman to start talking before she jumps to any kind of conclusions about why she's here right now.

"How are you?"

Kate's mouth opens, then closes. "Oh, uh, I'm good," she nods. "I'm doing good."

Anna gives a knowing smile. "Truthfully?"

"Truthfully," she says. "I'm—I'm okay." She pauses when Anna just looks at her, not judging but simply encouraging. She doesn't want to lie to the woman, not when she seems to just genuinely care. "A little stressed, a little... run down, I guess, but it's nothing I can't handle."

"Ah. Understandable, dear," Anna tells her. "I see you running on empty."

She hesitates. "I'm sorry, I didn't think I was letting it affect my work—"

Anna shakes her head. "You're doing a wonderful job, Kate. I can just see you wearing yourself down."

"It's—it's a lot, but I'll get a better system going. My performance won't suffer, I promise."

She doesn't want her to think that just because she's kind of overwhelmed that she's letting her work slip, because she's not, won't let it. Sure, she's tired, but she's been getting more sleep and if she keeps this up it'll all pan out.

"I'm not worried about your work," Anna says with a small smile, her voice soft. "I'm worried about _you_. I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself. I may just be your boss, some old woman, but I do care about my workers."

Her eyes widen ever so slightly. "Oh." Kate smiles, lets out a soft chuckle. She's such a stark contrast to Victor, such a sweet woman, and her heart lifts at the concern. "I—thank you for the concern, but I'm okay. I'm doing what I can."

Anna nods, doesn't pry any further, but moves one hand to rest briefly on top of Kate's. "As long as you're sure." At Kate's nod, she smiles. "In that case, it's just about time for your break, isn't it?"

Kate looks down at her watch, checking the time. "Uh, yeah, actually."

"Good," the woman announces before she stands, rummages in the back for something, and then comes back out with a small tray of danishes. "Then have your break back here with me, will you? I made these earlier, but haven't had a chance to test them out. Do you like lemon?"

She laughs as she nods. "Yes."

Anna puts the tray onto the table and grabs a few napkins, sliding one over to Kate before putting one in front of herself. A lemon danish is passed to her next, and she places it onto the napkin with a _thank you._

"I'm thinking about adding these into the display out front," Anna explains, breaking her own danish in half. "It's a new recipe. The only danishes out there right now are strawberry, raspberry, and apple."

Kate picks up the pastry and breaks a piece off, very aware of the eyes on her as she does so. "This is delicious," she says around the bite, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she chews. "You should definitely put these out front, the customers would love them."

Anna hums. "They are pretty good," she agrees after she tries it. "Could use a bit more of the glazed icing on top, but otherwise I'd say it's a contender."

"Most definitely."

"So, Kate," the woman says, ice blue eyes piercing her own before a grin creeps up onto her lips. "Who's that writer friend of yours that's always in here?"

She feels a light tinge of pink rush to her cheeks and she laughs, shakes her head, lets her hair fall into her face.

She spends the rest of her break in the back with Anna, this treasure of a woman, telling her about Rick and his writing, while Anna tells her a bit more about herself in return. Her shift started with a heaviness looming overhead, residual fatigue and stress, but it's washed away with her boss's sweet words and company.

* * *

On her way home from work she takes a detour, finds herself changing to a route that takes her right past the club. It's not intentional, but her feet take her that way and she allows them to. She doesn't want to go in, has no plans of doing so, she just wants to see it, say a final goodbye to this place so she can officially move on.

When she reaches it, she tucks her hands into her pockets and slows her pace.

It looks the same. Not that she'd expected it to have changed overnight, but it looks—it's as if she never left, standing here, but at the same time it feels like a lifetime ago that she actually worked there. Forever ago that she'd go in that back room and strip out of her clothes and into significantly less, tossing back a swig of vodka to give her the courage to gyrate on that stage and let the hands of men roam her skin.

She takes a deep breath, having seen enough and ready to just leave, when someone walks out the front. It's just another customer, she figures, and she turns, but then she hears her name.

"Kit?"

Oh, no.

"Kit!"

It's not a guy, not a customer from the sounds of it, and so she turns on her heel to find the source of the voice. It's one of the girls, probably just getting off of her shift, and she looks vaguely familiar. She doesn't remember her name, never really knew many of their names—not the real ones, anyway—but apparently the girl knows hers.

She gives a small smile when she gets close. "Hi?"

"CoCo," she reminds, and Kate nods. It rings a bell.

"Right, sorry."

CoCo shakes her head, waves her off. "Don't worry about it, I get it." Kate nods again, silent as she wonders where this little chat is going. "How have you been doing outside the club?"

Her eyes widen. "Oh, uh, good, it's good." She takes a second before continuing. "How's the club?"

"The same, verging on worse," the girl sighs. "Was it easy to find a job after you left?" Kate quirks a brow. "I'm—thinking about getting out of here, too."

She can't say she's surprised. All of the girls have said, at one point or another, that this is only a temporary arrangement. For some, it really is temporary. A few weeks, months at the most. But for others, months turns into years, and the thought of leaving essentially becomes wishful thinking.

One hand releases itself from her pocket, comes up to push her hair behind her ear. "It took a few weeks," she admits. "A few applications here and there, but it's doable."

CoCo nods. "Okay," she says. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it," Kate tells her. She pauses. "Is it really getting worse?"

"Another one of the girls ended up in the hospital," she says by way of explanation, and Kate blows out a breath. "Celine, I think."

Kate's eyes snap to the girl's. "Celine?" CoCo nods. Celine's one of the only girls she actually talked to during her time in the club. She wouldn't call them friends, no, but she was nice to talk to, and maybe under different circumstances she could see them actually being friends. "What happened?"

The redhead looks behind her, checks to make sure no one's around them, and then leans in. "I heard she was doing a drop for someone. Victor, probably. He's had a few girls do these runs for him in the past, but this one was different." She suddenly can't breathe. "One of the other girls said she brought a package to some place in Brooklyn, but she was attacked when she did. It was just bad."

All Kate can manage is a small, "oh."

"Anyway, I have to get going," CoCo says, motioning towards her car on the other end of the lot. "See you around, Kit."

Kate nods her farewell and then stands there for a while, watches as CoCo drives away, and then she runs her hands down her face. Celine did the drop, presumably the one she skipped out on, thereby opening up the need for a new girl to take her spot. And now she's in the hospital because she's been assaulted. She feels sick.

That should have been her.

That almost _was_ her.

* * *

It throws her off, hits her in a way she can't explain knowing that she could be in the hospital right now, she could have been the one attacked because she took on that job.

She almost did it.

The only reason she didn't is because she ran into Rick and Alexis, because she wanted to stay with them more than she wanted to do the drop, more than she wanted to get the money. But because she skipped out, another girl is injured.

Her stomach flips, her head whirling, and she startles when her phone rings.

"Hello," she answers with a shake of her head.

"Hey," Rick's voice beams in her ear. "You off shift?"

"Uh, yeah—yeah I'm done."

There's a slight pause. "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine," he counters, and she squeezes her eyes shut. When she doesn't answer, he continues. "Do you want to come over?"

Truthfully, she just wants to curl into bed and call it an early night. It's barely seven, the sun having just gone down, but crawling under her blankets sounds like the most appealing option right now.

This is getting to her more than it should, more than she'd have expected it to.

"I'm—it's nothing, I'm okay."

"It's something," he says softly. "I can hear it in your voice. Something's not right." She sighs out a heavy exhale, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I have wine and grilled cheese," he adds lightly. "Good comfort food for all of your comfort needs."

She lets out a small chuckle, takes a deep breath. "I—okay. Alright, yeah."

"I'll unlock the door?"

"Okay."

* * *

She hesitates once she's standing outside his door, second guessing this decision.

She's still rattled, can't seem to shake the feeling, and she knows he'll notice. He's already noticed something was off over the phone, so there's no doubt that in person he'll notice, he'll ask, and she won't be able to tell him what's wrong without telling him why she was passing through the park, why this is bothering her so much. She won't be able to tell him without letting out what she'd signed on to do in the first place, and she really doesn't want to.

Before she can even contemplate knocking, the door opens, and she's met with surprised wide eyes.

"Kate, hi," he says, a bag of garbage in his hand. "I was just running this to the trash chute. Go ahead in."

Giving him a small smile, she nods, moving so he can get around her before entering the loft. She makes her way over to the island and hovers, leaning her elbows on the surface as she rests her head in her open palms. When she lifts her head once more, she notices the ingredients on the counter. Bread, cheese, tomatoes, various meats.

Grilled cheese: Castle style, she assumes. The corners of her lips tug up at the sweet sentiment, making good on his offer of comfort food.

"I'm about to make us some fancy grilled cheese," he explains upon his return, looking from her to the stove with a grin.

"I'm sure it'll be delicious," she says. "Thanks."

He waves her off. "Not a problem."

When he starts picking up the items, opening the cheese and turning on the burner, she takes a look around, noticing the distinct lack of the smaller Castle. "Where's Alexis?"

"At a sleepover," he says, rounding the island. "It's her best friends birthday."

"Oh, that's nice."

He nods, agreeing, and then turns back to the task at hand. In ten minutes he's made two grilled cheese sandwiches with the addition of bacon and tomato, making it into more of a panini than a grilled cheese but equally as delicious, and they're sitting in the living room on the couch.

Handing her a glass, he offers a smile. "Wine, as promised."

She laughs. "Thank you."

"So," he hedges, and she sucks in a quiet breath, knowing already where this is going. "Are you okay?"

Is she? She was fine, totally fine, until she heard about Celine. Now she doesn't know what she is. In shock? Confused? Guilty, because it should have been her? Grateful, because it wasn't? All of the above?

"I'm..." She blows out a breath, bowing her head until it's resting in her hands, eyes pinched shut. She doesn't realize her legs are bouncing, shaking against the couch cushions until his hands find her knee, fingers squeezing gently.

"Did something—did something happen?"

Not bothering to lift her face, she just gives a small nod.

His grip on her knee tightens. "Are you—Kate, did someone..."

She knows that voice, can hear the same concern he'd shown for her while she still worked at the club, the same intense concern hidden in the depths of his eyes that night in the alley when she'd told him that a client didn't take no for an answer.

She does lift her head then. "No," she tells him, watching him relax. "Not... not me." He doesn't say anything, just waits her out patiently. "One of the girls in the club, the only one I ever really talked to. She uh, she got attacked. She's in pretty bad shape, so I hear."

"Oh, Kate, I'm sorry," he says, eyes on her. "Were you close?"

It would be easier if she could say yes, if she could just say they were close friends and that's why she's so upset, so shaken by it.

But she can't.

"No," she whispers.

"How did it happen?"

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she exhales. "She did a drop for Victor. Ended up the fourth girl in the hospital because of it."

"A drop?"

"Heroin."

Rick sighs. "Those kinds of things... there's nothing good that can come from them, they usually end like this. When you start getting involved in drug trafficking, it's a slippery slope. I've researched for past books and it's—it's sad. It's dangerous, but it's sad." He pauses. "It's understandable that you're shaken by it, Kate. This is an awful thing to have happen."

Her face falls back into her hands. "It's my fault," she says, so quietly she barely hears it herself.

"What?" His fingers find the bottom of her chin, gently tipping it upwards so she's looking at him. "How is this your fault?"

She doesn't answer, just shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek and letting her head fall back against the couch. Her eyes slide shut once more, her breathing steadying.

"Kate..."

"It should've been me."

His brows furrow. "What?"

"It should've been me," she repeats, her voice breaking. "I got the call about the drop. _I_ was offered that job. I turned them down, but then they brought up the money and I ended up needing it... I needed it, so I said yes. I said I'd do it."

"Kate—"

"I was supposed to go to the club to pick up the box and bring it to some address. I didn't even let myself think of the implications, just that the money would help, and so I went and..."

Something clicks, and his eyes change. "And you were on your way to the club when you ran into us in the park, weren't you."

It's not a question.

"Yeah."

He turns his head, draws his hand back, and she expects him to get up and walk away. And he does, he gets up, fingers rubbing at his temples.

"I—I need to..."

She panics when he starts to move away from her, heart beating out of her chest. "Rick—"

"I just, I need a few minutes, okay?"

With his eyes on her, cloudy and hurt by what she's done, she nods, watching as he turns on his heels and makes his way into the office. Her head collides with the back cushion again as soon as he's out of sight, her eyes screwed shut, frustrated tears prickling at the backs of them. She's frustrated with herself, with how stupid she was in accepting that offer.

Stupid, it was stupid.

And Rick's right to be angry, has every right to be upset that she'd basically agreed to be a drug runner. Disgusted with herself, she leans forward, resting her forehead into the space between her knees, hands coming up to rest on the back of her head.

She wonders if she should just leave, give him some more space, and hope he isn't mad enough to walk away for good. She doesn't want to see his scrunched up face when he comes back, doesn't want to look at it knowing she put that expression there. And so she's about to get up, breathing out a deep sigh, fingers wiping under her eyes, when he returns.

He paces, and she watches as he turns his back to her for a few seconds more before swiveling back around.

"You could've—you could've been beaten, or raped."

She winces, both at the pain in his voice and in the truth of his statement, but manages a small nod. "I know."

"You could've been _killed_."

"I know," she whispers. Because she does, she knows.

"Why didn't you just ask—I would've helped you, you _know_ that," he says, his voice quiet but firm, hints of frustration bleeding through. "But you went to the club instead. _A heroin drop_, Kate. Do you know how often those things go smoothly? It's _rare_."

She sighs. "I know you'd help," she confirms. "But I didn't want to take any more of your money. And I reasoned that it was just this one drop. I figured I'd do it, get the cash, and then I wouldn't have to bother with it anymore. It was... stupid."

"Yeah, it was." He shakes his head. "You do it once and they just expect you to keep doing it, Kate."

She realizes that now, thought of it after the fact.

"I know, I know," she echoes. "I'm sorry, I just—it should've been me, Rick, not her. It almost _was_ me. And I—I don't know how to deal with that." He sits back down next to her, and she avoids his eyes while she speaks. "I could be the one in that hospital bed, I _should_ be. She's only in there because I backed out."

"Why did you?" His voice is quiet, not judging, just curious.

Shrugging, she sniffles. "I ran into you and Alexis," she admits, and his fingers twitch at her side. "Didn't want to go anymore. Didn't want to go to begin with."

He pulls her into his embrace then, wraps his arms around her and tightens his hold. "I'm still upset that you agreed to it in the first place. But I can't even tell you how happy I am that you decided not to go," he says, whispering into her ear quietly. "I'm so glad you're okay, Kate. _Please_, don't do that ever again." She nods against him, fingers gripping at the back his shirt. "I don't want to have to find you in the hospital, beaten and bloodied. Please don't make me do that."

"I won't," she mumbles into his chest. "I promise. I won't."

"And next time you'll just ask me?"

She has no intentions of letting there be a next time, but she nods once more into his chest. "Yes," she says, letting out a watery chuckle as her arms tighten around his neck. "Next time I'll ask."

* * *

Thank you all, you're incredible.


	10. Chapter 10

She's sitting in the passenger seat of his car by ten o'clock, brows raised as she takes in his wicked grin.

"You plan on telling me what we're doing?" she asks. His smile only grows as he shakes his head.

"Well, you wouldn't give me any specifics as to what you wanted to do for your long over-due _Kate's Relaxation Day_," he says, giving her a pointed look as they come up to a red light. She huffs. "_So_, I've taken the liberty of doing that for you."

She's silent for a second before it dawns on her. "You have an entire day planned out, don't you?"

"Of course," he says. "Unless you have other plans, obviously, then we can just forget—"

"No," she cuts him off with a hand on his forearm. "No other plans. This is really sweet, Rick."

His face breaks on a wide smile. "Perfect."

"Really, thank you," she says again, softly, eyes still trained on him as he concentrates on the road. "I know it's been... rough, lately, after that—you know, but I could really use this day off."

Bright blue eyes meet hers briefly. "No thank you necessary," he tells her. "That's long forgotten, and you deserve to treat yourself, Kate. You're working your ass off with classes and the coffee shop, it's about time you get a day to yourself." He pauses. "And, well, me."

This man. He's far too good to her, and she's not entirely sure what she's done in this life, or maybe it was a past one, to deserve having someone like him as a friend. Maybe more, too, because as much as she's tried to deny it, she has feelings for him that run far deeper than just friendship.

And she's pretty sure he feels it too.

She laughs. "Even better."

They ride in silence for a while longer, save for when Rick sings wildly along with the radio. She rolls her eyes, laughs and covers her mouth with her hands when he sings _Say My Name_ word for word, loud and proud. She joins in too, unbridled and unashamed for the first time in a while, and finds herself feeling lighter.

When they pull up in front of a fancy restaurant, she looks over at him, some doubt etched into her features.

"Rick, I don't think I'm exactly dressed for this place," she says, gesturing to the sign written in perfect script and then down to her own outfit; a pair of skinny jeans, flats, and a fitted top.

He'd told her to dress comfortable, said nothing about going out to a high end restaurant, and so that leaves her feeling fairly under-dressed.

But he just smiles as he gets out of the car and walks around to her side, opening the door. "This isn't where we're going," he says then, extending a hand for her to take. He bends down, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Though, you'd still be the prettiest one in there."

A blush tinges her cheeks at the compliment as she grabs his hand, clutching her cross body purse to her chest, and lets him tug her from the car. She doesn't say anything in response, doesn't have to, because the crinkles around his eyes at her soft smile lets her know that he gets it.

True to his word, he guides them past the fancy restaurant and into an alleyway, past a few sketchy looking doorways until he leads her into the last one on the left. He must sense her hesitation because he chuckles, turns back to her with a quiet, "it's nice inside, I promise."

She nods, following him inside, and wow—he's not lying.

It's a quaint lunch place, one she's never even heard of, hidden away in the back of an alley canvassed with spray paint and graffiti. There's a decent amount of people inside, and she wonders how they've come to learn of it. She takes a look around, absorbing the modern mixed with chic that fills the space. It's not quite a restaurant, more so like a small cafe, and she already loves the vibe it gives off. There's a nice air of comfort without being too casual, a hint of sophistication without being uptight or smothering.

She fits in wearing her jeans, but she'd fit in wearing leggings or a sundress too, probably.

"This place is..."

"Nice, isn't it?" he beams back at her, beckoning over a man in slacks and a striped button down. "Dave, nice to see you again."

"Same to you, Rick," the man, blonde and probably mid-thirties, says to him, shaking his hand. "Glad to see you back. And who's this lovely lady?"

"I'm Kate," she says politely, shaking his hand next. "Nice to meet you. This place looks amazing."

Dave smiles. "Thank you," he nods. "I hope you enjoy the food, too. Take any seat you want, Rick'll show you what's best I'm sure."

And with a few other pleasantries Dave's gone, disappeared behind a door in the back, and she turns to Rick.

"How do you even know about this place?" she asks. This isn't anywhere near his home in SoHo. It's not that close to her apartment either, but it's closer to hers than it is his and she's never heard of it.

He looks back over his shoulder as he weaves between tables, taking her to a more secluded one near a corner. The lighting is a little dimmer but no less stunning, and there are decorative plants seated where the walls meet. "I met Dave while I was researching hidden gems around the city for an early book." At the questions in her eyes, he continues. "Never made it past the first draft," he explains. "It wasn't much of anything that would sell, but I got a lot out off the process." He gets to the table, pulling out her chair and waits for her to sit. "Like this place."

She nods, taking a seat. "I had no idea this place existed," she admits, grabbing for a menu. "It has an incredible feel to it, though."

"It really does."

Rick takes his own menu and looks through it for a few seconds before setting it back down.

"You already know what you want?" she asks, eyes lifting from the laminated pamphlet in her hands.

"I kind of have a regular," he shrugs. "But you get whatever you want, even if that's everything. Today's all about you."

She snorts. "I'm not ordering the entire menu," she assures him, her gaze traveling back down. "Should I be saving room for some kind of dessert later?"

Rick's eyes widen. "Of course, is that even a question? Dessert is a must on a 'treat yourself' day, Kate. A _must_."

"My apologies," she laughs, holding up one hand. "Dessert it is."

Kate ends up choosing a wrap that looks simple yet delicious, along with a small salad. She only barely manages to resist the eye roll and stifle the laugh when Rick shoves a few of his french fries in her direction because _you can't just have a salad and a wrap to treat yourself_.

Halfway through the meal, she looks up at him, chin propped in her open palm.

"So, do I get to see any of these other hidden gems that research of yours found?"

He grins. "All in good time, Kate. All in good time."

* * *

They end up at the park next and he disappears for a few minutes, holding up his pointer finger in indication for her to wait. She laughs, taking a seat on one of the benches as she nods. She's digging the toes of her shoes into the dirt below her, scraping against a cluster of rocks when Rick comes back to her with two ice creams in hand. A smile stretches across her face as she takes the chocolate and vanilla twist that he offers her.

Compared to his twist with gummy bears and what looks to be both caramel and hot fudge, hers is relatively tame. But that he knew what she'd want when it comes to ice cream, when he hadn't asked and she hadn't told him her preference before, is sweet.

"Thank you," she grins, wrapping her fingers more securely around the cone. "Perfect for this weather."

Rick nods. "Absolutely," he agrees. "Ice cream is an all-season food though, you know. Summer? Perfect. Spring? Perfect. Winter? Still perfect."

"Of _course_ you'd eat ice cream in the middle of winter."

It's so very _him_.

He shrugs. "Never the wrong time for ice cream, Kate."

She watches as he eats his, cocking his head to the side, his tongue jetting out to lick at the melting ice cream as it trickles down the side of his cone. When he brings his head right side up again, he has spots of vanilla on his nose and his upper lip and she chuckles, shaking her head.

"You've got a little..." She reaches out, wiping the ice cream off of his face with her finger. His eyes meet hers as she does, soft and expressive, and she has to dip her head. "All good."

"Thanks," he manages, clearing his throat. "Shall we?" He nods towards one of the paths and she follows suit, falling into step with him as they finish off their snacks.

The park is beautiful this time of the year. The blades of the grass stand tall and there are bright green leaves with hints of other colors weaved between the veins scattered across the ground. There's a nice breeze that keeps the air from becoming to stifling, too humid, and it makes it the perfect temperature for this kind of stroll.

She orients herself towards him as they continue through, eventually tossing out the melted remnants of their ice cream.

"I know you probably had something more exciting in mind, but I thought this would be nice, calm," he says, breaking the comfortable silence that's fallen over the two of them.

"No," she says. Calm is what she needs, what she loves so much but rarely has the pleasure of getting between class and work. Add in the club, back when she worked, and it was almost impossible for _calm_. But his kind of calm, walking through a park with someone she trusts completely, just enjoying each other's company without any expectations, is good. It's welcomed, it's... "Perfect."

He grins then, his face glowing with joy, and he brings his hand down to grab hers, twining their fingers together.

* * *

By the time dinner rolls around, both of their stomachs are rumbling in protest. She doesn't expect him to take her to a high scale place, no. She honestly didn't really know _what_ to expect, but it most certainly wasn't this.

Standing in front of Sky Zone, she turns to him, a look of both curiosity and wonder on her face.

"Come on," he beams, opening the door and ushering her into the building.

It's practically empty, aside from a few other adults that she assumes are actually working, and she's not really sure how a place like this would be vacant. Unless—

"Did you buy this place out?"

His expression is answer enough, but he does nod. "I might have called in a favor," he shrugs.

"Rick," she whispers, then lets out a small laugh. "That's—this is—wow."

A trampoline park. He's taken her to an indoor trampoline park. And he hasn't just taken her to an indoor trampoline park, he's taken her and made it so they'd be the only two here.

It's incredible. Trampolines lining the walls, the floors, everywhere, only separated by thin lines of material to section off the smaller trampolines. She can't even remember the last time she's been on one of these, because there's not much room for one in New York. Not when you don't have a real backyard, one big enough for something like this.

"That's a good wow I hope?"

She turns to him, all teeth and smiles. "A good wow," she nods. "Definitely a good wow."

"Oh, good," he breathes. "Now, the important question." She looks at him expectantly. "Food first or jump first?"

A loud laugh bubbles out of her, and she mentally chastises herself for thinking the important question would be anything but something like this.

"Do we want to jump around after we've eaten?" she asks, and there's a brief pause before they both shake their heads and reply at the same time. "Jump first."

They put their stuff down at one of the tables off to the side, toe off their shoes and slide them under the accompanying bench, and make their way over to the trampolines. The first one she steps on is lying flat against the floor, not angled diagonally against a wall, and she does a test jump, pure childhood excitement taking over.

She doesn't look back until she's hopped across three different trampolines, her tongue stuck between her teeth as she glances over at Rick, who's making his way in a circle—or square, really, with the layout of the rectangle trampolines—around her.

"Got any fancy tricks?" he asks as he approaches, a glint in his eyes.

She has a feeling he's about to try one, whether it works out or not.

Her shoulders lift. "Maybe one or two."

It's possible that her few years of gymnastics as a small child will help her out here. It's also entirely possible that she's retained nothing and anything she tries to do will end miserably and with her flat on her back.

Worth the risk, she figures.

"Alright then," he says, a brow raising as he gestures around them. "Care to demonstrate?"

She shakes her head with a small chuckle. "Oh no. You first. Definitely you first."

"Who's to say I have any tricks at all?" He says it seriously, but the tug of his lips keys her into the joke.

"Oh, _please_."

Grinning, he laughs. "You got me." He takes a few steps away from her, bouncing on the balls of his feet over to a larger area. "Now don't try this at home, kids. You could injure yourselves."

She looks around, crossing an arm over her chest as she tries to stifle her laughter. It's literally only her. She's the only one here, but he's still putting on a show. Typical.

Truthfully, she enjoys it. But she won't tell him that, no, won't let him get that satisfaction. Maybe eventually.

He takes a running start and tries to do a cartwheel across the trampoline, but his hand gets caught in the divider and thwarts his success. Without that he would've had a pretty nice landing, though, she has to give it to him. Lifting his head, he gives her a look and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face.

"That doesn't count," he says, standing again.

She shakes her head. "Of course not."

With a nudge to her shoulder, he walks by again and tries it once more, this time making sure to avoid the dividing material. He sticks the landing, and while not totally straight, his cartwheel is a success. A lot better than she was expecting.

She's clapping when he comes back towards her, and he crosses an arm in front of his chest, bows. "Thank you, thank you."

"Not bad, Rick," she acknowledges with a smile. "Looks like you're not all rickety bones after all."

He gapes. "I'm not _that_ old," he protests.

Kate laughs, rubbing a hand over his shoulder. "You're young, so young," she soothes, a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

He's not old, not even remotely, but teasing him about it is far too much fun to pass up.

"Okay then, let's see your tricks now," he challenges, taking a step back.

She raises a brow, gives a smug smile as she nods, accepting the challenge. "Stand back, kids, don't try this at home," she mimics his earlier sentiments, gaining a huff and grin from him.

She does a test bounce on the trampoline before heading over to the larger patch of area just to her left. It's been a while since she's done any kind of gymnastics, anything other than the occasional cartwheel in the grass before everything took a downward twist, but the adrenaline of trying again brings her up.

Starting off a bit slower, she decides to just do a front flip. Hard to mess up, and it'll be a nice way to gage where her skillsets still lie, tell her what she can and can't do anymore. She jumps once, twice, and then curls her head into her chest, legs together as she flips in the air once and lands back on her feet. There's a stupid grin on her face when she turns back and sees him smiling at her too.

"Not bad, not bad," he downplays, but the spark in his eyes tells her that he loved it anyway.

She laughs. "Yeah, well, it's been a while."

"No, no, that was great," he says then, losing the facade. "You know anything else?"

Shrugging a shoulder, she bites her bottom lip. "A few things, but I'm not sure how well a lot would work," she explains. "I used to be able to do aerials, but after I quit gymnastics and had my growth spurt... probably not. A back walkover and back flip, maybe."

A front flip worked fine, she assumes she'd still be able to get a back flip too, then.

His gaze finds hers, brows shooting up. "_Oooh_, let's try! Please, Kate."

"Back flip," she compromises. "I don't feel like bending all over right now."

"Deal," he grins.

Looking over her shoulder at him once more, she shakes her head with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, takes another small test jump and a deep breath before taking off. She runs a few feet before she stops, jumps, and tucks herself into a back flip like she used to do all those years ago. The landing is a bit shaky, not as graceful as the front flip's had been, but she lands it regardless.

"You still got it," Rick says, behind her now, a hand on her arm.

She huffs a laugh, joy radiating from her body in a way she hasn't felt in a long time as she takes an exaggerated bow, much like he had ten minutes earlier. He runs at her then, trying to tackle her to the trampoline before she manages to dodge his arms.

They jump for another half hour, until they're both too tired to continue and too hungry to wait much longer.

When he offers his hand to help her from the edge of the trampoline, fingers brushing the soft skin between her thumb and pointer finger, she give him a smile and lets him lead her over to the food court.

* * *

The day ends at his loft, the two of them settled onto the couch with a glass of wine and her legs tucked beneath her body.

"Today was really... great," she says, breaking the silence to look at him. "Thank you, Rick. It was—I think this was exactly what I needed."

He beams. "I'm thrilled you've enjoyed your day so far, but it's not over."

Her brows furrow, eyes narrowing in confusion as she re-positions herself. "What are you talking about?" she asks with a small chuckle. "We're sitting in your living room with an old movie, popcorn, and two glasses of wine. What else could there possibly be?"

But he doesn't answer, just stands from his spot beside her and gestures for her to follow suit. And so she does, uncurls her legs and stands, following him with question after question popping into her head as he leads her through the living room. When they enter the office she thinks this is where they'll stop, that maybe it has something to do with his books that'll end the night, but then he keeps going, trailing through the study and into his bedroom.

She halts at the door, hesitant, because this isn't exactly what she had in mind, isn't what she thought he'd just jump right into to let the day end with a bang—no pun intended.

But then he's turning, watching her as she stands in his doorway, wine in hand, and he just smiles.

"Come on," he encourages, beckoning her into the room and to her surprise, into his bathroom. What? "Mind out of the gutter, Kate," he teases.

She rolls her eyes, a slight pang of disappointment settling in her stomach that she won't acknowledge right now, and trails behind. Her mouth drops open when she finally realizes what he's done, why he's brought her into the bathroom, and what he had planned to end her relaxation day.

The bathtub—the gigantic, _beautiful_ bathtub—is filled with hot water and bubbles, a small table set up beside it with a stack of books and even a brand new, unopened bottle of the same wine she's drinking right now.

She's in awe.

"This is—Rick," she breathes. "When did you do this?"

"While you were upstairs," he says, a proud grin on his face.

"Wow. This is so nice, but it's—it's too much, I couldn't..."

He shakes his head. "Nonsense," he waves her off. "You can, and you will. What's more relaxing than a glass of wine, you asked?" His hands gesture around him, to the tub and its contents beside it. "Wine while in a nice, warm bubble bath. Because I can tell you're a bubble bath person, I know you're a wine person, and, well, I may have picked out a few books I thought you might enjoy while you relax."

"I see _Storm Season_ peeking out in the middle," she jests.

"Only the best, Kate," he says seriously, eyes twinkling, and she wants to kiss the beginning of that smile right off his face. "Now, finish off your day the way you deserve."

"What about you?" she asks as he's walking back out.

"Is that an invitation?"

She huffs. "_No_," she tells him. "But am I just supposed to soak in your bathtub while you sit in the living room by yourself?"

"Sure, why not? And when you're done, we'll watch another movie or something if you're not _too_ relaxed," he says easily, and she wonders how he does this, knows exactly what to do and what to say that makes something not so weird anymore.

She doesn't deserve him, but she's sure as hell glad she has him.

"Okay," she agrees then. "After."

"After," he nods.

Watching him leave, she purses her lips into a tight line. "Rick," she calls out, and his stride slows.

He turns back, a soft smile on his face as he regards her. "Yeah?"

She takes a deep breath before making her way over to him, stopping only when she's a few inches away. One hand finds purchase on his cheek, the other on his shoulder, and she lifts onto her tip toes to slant her mouth over his. It's soft, sweet, but it has the hairs on her arm standing on end, goosebumps following in their wake, breaking across her skin. When she pulls away, she hovers with her forehead dipped, her teeth digging into her lip.

"Thank you," she whispers, stealing a glance just in time to see his eyes sparkling, his mouth parted in awe.

She swivels on her heel and heads back to the bathroom, just barely registering the quiet, surprised "you're welcome" coming from behind her.

It'd be a lie to say she hasn't thought about doing that before, but it was better than she could've hoped for. She can only imagine how a real kiss will be. Will, not would, because she knows that wasn't just a one time thing; it can't be.

Her fingers tap lightly over her lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she moves to get undressed. It doesn't hit her until she's stripped and stepping into the tub that she doesn't have any clothes to change into, but then she notices a small stack of sweats and t-shirts on the counter. They're his, of course, over-sized and looking extremely comfortable.

He's thought of everything, it seems.

Fully submerged in the hot water, bubbles lapping at her collar bones, she grabs the glass of wine and opens one of his books—though if he asks, she'll tell him she read Stephen King—as she lets herself sink deeper into the tub.

The idea of today was to help her relax, and relaxed she is.

* * *

It's been a while, I know. Sorry for the long waits between chapters, but thank you all for sticking with me while I work through this one. And to those wondering, don't worry, this will be finished—it may be taking longer than I'd like, but I have no intentions of abandoning it!


	11. Chapter 11

"Hm?"

"Earth to Kate," Rick laughs, waving a hand in front of her face.

She blinks. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"Everything okay?"

Nodding, she lets herself sink further into the couch cushions. She doesn't even remember zoning out, and is surprised to find that the movie credits are already rolling. She doesn't really remember watching any of it. He'd invited her over for dinner and a movie—it's not a date, she reminds herself, even if it may feel like one—after she'd finished up at the coffee shop. She's been closing most nights, staying late to compensate for her late starts most mornings.

She hasn't been able to see Rick much because of her work, end of the year assignments and projects taking up the most of her time when she's not at the coffee shop. But by sheer luck, she finally has a semi-free weekend. One law paper is due, but she's started it already and can finish it Sunday night easily.

"Yeah," she breathes, running her hands over her face. "Just... thinking, I guess. Sorry I didn't pay attention to the movie."

Rick shifts his body, situating himself in the corner so he can angle towards her. "Don't be sorry," he says. "Anything I can do to help? Get your mind off of?"

Fighting against the heat that rises to her chest, the way her mind twists his words to insinuate something she's sure he didn't mean to, she offers him a small smile.

"Not really. Just—trying to decide what to do next, you know? I finish my undergrad soon and I need to have a plan. I've always had a plan, until..." Her voice trails off, eyes meeting his as he gives her a slight nod. Until her mom was killed, she'd had a plan. It took a little longer for her to follow through with it, a while to get herself back to where she'd left off, but she's here now, finishing what she started and now she needs to take it to the next step. "But now, I mean, I'm almost done. What's next? Grad school? Law school? The coffee shop is great, Anna's incredible, but I can't stay there forever—"

"Kate," Rick interrupts, cuts off her rambling, and she pauses, looks at him. "Breathe. It seems to me like you _do_ have a plan."

She huffs. "What?"

"Yeah. You know you don't want to stay at the coffee shop, you already know what you're doing—law, like your parents, right?"

Half a shoulder raises. "Ideally, yeah."

"Good. You're better off than most undergrads, then," he tells her. "So, now all you have to do is decide which path you want to take to get there."

Groaning, she lets her head lull into the couch. "Being in school and back on track is great and all, but sometimes I... miss the ease of the club." At Rick's sharp breath, she rolls her head in his direction. "Relax, Rick, I'm not going back. I don't miss _doing_ it, I don't miss stripping, I just—knowing exactly what I was going to do, when, with who. The certainty that I'd have a place on the roster, that I'd make money. That's what was appealing, you know?"

He scoots a little closer to her, places a hand on her knee. "I get it," he nods. "It's simpler, almost. But Kate, you're doing so much better now."

"I know."

"You'll figure out all that other stuff, too," he asserts, so confidently it threatens to take her breath away. His faith in her is astounding, so foreign to her, especially after everything he knows, that he's witnessed. "And I'll be here to help."

Her lips curve up at that, and she covers his hand with hers, squeezes. "Thank you," she exhales. "I know I'm overreacting—"

"You're not," he interjects, shaking a head. "It's all new, Kate. It's natural to be overwhelmed."

Taking a deep breath, she nods. He's right; everything coming up, the end of her undergraduate career, the impending questions she'll have to have answers to. What's next? Where will she study? What kind of law does she want to pursue: Civil? Criminal? Corporate? Deep down she knows she could never work as a corporate lawyer. They make more money, sure, but she'd be forced to lose some of her morals along the way, to let some of her personal values shift to the side.

No, she couldn't do that.

"Stop thinking," he tells her lightly. "There'll be plenty of time to think later, promise. Right now, focus on the present."

"The present," she echoes, a small nod accompanying. Brushing her concerns to the side for a moment, she sits up straighter, takes a breath. "Okay, Rick. What's happening now?"

"Well, right now we're sitting here, watching the ending credits of a movie _someone_ didn't watch." His eyes sparkle with the teasing and she smacks at his arm, rolls her eyes.

"If it's any consolation, I _have_ seen Annie before."

Rick lets out a dramatic sigh. "But you didn't even sing along when Tomorrow came on, Kate. That's unheard of."

"Did _you_ sing along?"

"I did."

Did he? Wow, she was more out of it than she thought.

"I'm sorry," she says, patting at his shoulder. "Do you want to rewind it? Replay Tomorrow? I'll sing along with you; don't want your ego bruised."

It looks like he's about to come back with another retort but it dies on his tongue. Instead he just grins, wide and bright, and nods. He reaches over to grab the remote from the coffee table and rewinds to the scene he's looking for, glancing over at her before he hits play.

"Ready?"

Chuckling, she nods. "Ready."

Rick starts the movie once more and the two of them sing out Annie's _Tomorrow_, a little too loud and just enough proud.

* * *

"Kate."

The woman in question turns to find Anna at her side.

She returns with an easy smile. "Everything okay, Anna?"

Her boss laughs, waves a hand in dismissal. "Of course, honey, of course. I'm coming to relieve you while you tend to a proposition over there," she tells her, eyes glittering as they shift to Kate's far left. Her eyes follow, find Rick and Alexis standing at the end of the counter, off in the corner. At Kate's raised brow, Anna shrugs. "You can't say no to that face, dear."

"Alexis or Rick?"

Anna merely grins, patting her on the shoulder with a not-so-subtle shove in their direction. Kate rolls her eyes, stuffing her hands in the pocket of her apron as she shuffles around behind the other workers to reach the two now standing discreetly against one of the far tables.

Her heart stutters in her chest when Rick surprises her, braces a palm on her arm and places a chaste kiss to her cheek.

"Don't be mad."

Kate huffs. "I'm not sure I'm too fond of propositions that start with 'don't be mad'."

"Who said anything about a proposition?"

Her head twists to the older woman now manning the register, and Rick laughs. Alexis bounces on her toes, looking up at Kate with an odd blend of excitement and hesitance.

"Hi, Alexis," Kate says, leaning down to brush a hand along the pom pom on top of the girl's hat. "Looking very festive this morning."

Alexis beams. "Thanks," she says happily, pulling on the ends of her jacket.

"Now..."

"Right, yeah," Rick starts once again, nodding to Alexis. "This one has a question she'd like to ask you. Go ahead, Pumpkin."

Kate turns her attention to Alexis as she leans her hip up against the edge of the table.

"Kate, will you help me pick out a dress for Paige's birthday party?"

She blinks. "Paige... your friend, right?"

"Uh huh."

"She's too old for dear old dad's expertise now, it seems," Rick says, slapping his palm over his chest. "It's a sad day."

Chuckling, she gives a nod. "Yeah, sure," she says easily, though she does have one question, turning to Rick. "Why would I get mad about this? I don't mind helping her pick out a dress."

"Well, you see," he starts, rubbing at the back of his neck. "We kind of mentioned it to Anna and she kind of already said you can take the rest of the day off..."

"Rick—"

"Before you say anything, know I did not ask to steal you from work," he continues. "She found out the party is, well, tonight—we're a little behind schedule—and insisted it'd be fine if you skipped out a little early."

Kate crosses her arms across her chest, swiveling around to look for the woman in question. She finds her boss handing a drink to a customer with a smile before she notices her staring, but Anna just winks, gestures with her head and a small wave. She rolls her eyes, letting out a small huff before turning back.

"I guess I'm ready to go," she shrugs, unfastening the belt from her apron. "I'll go get my bag."

As she walks back out, passing Anna, the woman pats her shoulder. "Go, doll."

"I'll see you an hour early tomorrow," Kate says, giving her a pointed look. A beat later, she softens. "But thank you."

* * *

"So, Alexis, do you know what kind of dress you want?" she asks as they stroll through the store, rows upon rows of dresses before them. Rick had dropped the two of them off, said he'd be wandering around the other outlets until they were done.

The girl shrugs. "Something pretty."

Kate hums. "A color?"

"Blue?"

"I think we can handle that," she says, moving to another rack. They all seem to be organized in different ways; some are color-coordinated, which makes looking for a blue dress much more simple, but others are sectioned off more by size.

They find a few different options, and Kate stands outside the dressing room as Alexis takes in a handful to try on. She comes out, one by one, not too enthused by any of the three she's paraded in so far. Kate thinks they all look adorable, but apparently that's not exactly what the girl's going for, and she vetoes each one.

"Are you gonna look?" she hears from behind the curtain.

She looks up. "What?"

"For a dress," Alexis clarifies. "Daddy said you should."

Kate shakes her head. "When did he say that?" she asks, before backtracking. "I mean, no, I'm not. What would I need a dress for?"

"Your graduation."

Okay, sure, she could use a dress for her graduation, but she hasn't told Rick that, so she's not sure how Alexis knows. It's possible he's just assuming she'd need a new dress for the occasion, but this isn't about her.

"Today's about finding _you_ a dress," she reminds the girl. "Now, come out here and let me see option number four."

"Fine," Alexis grumbles, emerging from the small area in a dress with puffy sleeves and more frill than anticipated when it's on the hanger. "I don't think this is the one."

Nodding, she doesn't argue. "That's okay, there's still one more in there, right?"

"Right." There's a pause, and a small smirk takes over the girl's face. She doesn't like that look. "But I'm not gonna try it on unless you try on a dress with me."

"Alexis..."

But she shakes her head, tiny arms crossed. "_Please_, Kate. It's only fair."

"Pretty sure this is the complete opposite of fair and you know it," she counters. Alexis is unfazed, just continues to grin, batting her eyes up at the woman and knowing she'll cave. So predictable. "_One_ dress."

"Three."

"One."

"Two," the girl bargains. "And I get to pick one."

Shaking her head, she lets out a deep sigh. "All right, fine. Go pick one."

She can't believe she's doing this. Today is entirely about Alexis finding a dress for her party that starts in—she glances at her watch—about two hours, and here she is perusing the racks for a dress for herself. It's pointless, really, because she won't be buying a dress, but she'll do it to please Alexis.

Her fingers brush against the fabrics as she moves, when she lands on a deep burgundy dress. It's beautiful, stunning even. For a night out, a date, but not so much for a graduation. She keeps moving, finds a simple green dress with a deep v and not much else happening. It'll do.

Grabbing it from the row, she heads back to the dressing room to find Alexis already there, standing with a white dress held against her chest.

"Here you go," she beams, extending it in her hand. "Time to get changed."

"You too," Kate laughs, pointing back towards the curtain. "A deal's a deal."

Inside her own dressing room, she tries on the green dress first. It's nice, a deep hunter green, and it fits well. She looks at herself for a few seconds and takes it off, because she'll just show Alexis the dress she picked out and call it a day. Plucking it from the hanger, she steps into it carefully, this dress more form-fitting than the one she'd chosen.

Once it's zipped up and she has a chance to look in the mirror, she finds herself staring, blinking. It's... well, beautiful, really. Now that she's thinking about it, she's pretty sure this is the dress that was on the mannequin in the front of the store, the one she'd been looking at while she thought Alexis was buying one of those bouncy balls from the quarter machines. She must've seen her, though.

The v is deep, but not as low as the other one, and it falls to just above her knee. It's short sleeves, and there are triangle cutouts around each rib cage; nothing too suggestive, but tasteful.

"You done?" she hears, and she laughs.

She leaves the dressing room to find Alexis coming out in a light blue dress. It's not as child-like as the others, with a lack of frills or floral patterns, but more simple with a white ribbon-like-belt wrapped around the middle, coming together in a bow at the front. "I think I like this one."

Kate smiles. "You look beautiful, Alexis."

"It's perfect," the girl says, smiling as she looks at her. "I saw you looking at it before and thought it would look good on you. You _have_ to get it, Kate."

"Oh, no," she says. "We'll get you that dress and that's more than enough."

"But you look so pretty!"

"That's very sweet. But the deal was I try it on, not buy it," Kate says, hating the disappointed look on Alexis's face. Aside from this dress being grossly outside of her price range, she really doesn't need it. It'd be nice, but she has other perfectly good dresses in her closet she can make work for graduation. "Turn that frown upside down. You picked a beautiful dress, Alexis, but right now we just need to get yours. Come on—let's get dressed, you don't want to be late for Paige's party, do you?"

That gets the girl moving, back into the dressing room and dressed within minutes.

As they're ringing up at the check-out counter, Alexis turns to look up at Kate.

"Thanks for coming with me," she says with a small smile. "Daddy's great and all, but his dress knowledge is severely lacking."

Laughing, she squeezes the redheads shoulder. "Anytime, Alexis."

* * *

**A/N**: First off, to anyone still reading this, I am incredibly sorry for the disgustingly long wait. The only reasoning I have to offer is that I lost inspiration. I couldn't figure out where to take this story, and (while I still don't plan on abandoning it) I'm still a little unsure, both about this chapter and where to go from here, but I'm trying to work it out.

That being said, I do have a question: would you guys rather I post as I write (which may include longer intervals between chapters, though I hope nowhere near as long as this one) or finish the story and then post the remaining chapters on a regular schedule? Let me know!

Thank you so much to anyone still here, and again, I'm so sorry it's been so long.


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